Mists of Memory
by Rebell
Summary: Legolas is thought dead. But when Estel and the twins rescue an elf, that belief will soon die. Mirkwood is in danger, but if Legolas can't remember anything, no one will know about it... until it's too late.
1. Strange Dreams

**Disclaimer:** I do not own them. I borrow them, make them do my bidding and release.

**AN:** (Edited as of April 5, 2010) Five years after the beginning of this little epic, I have decided that it's high time to go back and fix things so that they read a little better. Spelling, grammar, little things like that. Nothing major has been changed otherwise: I baby this thing too much to allow it to be radically redone. It has character. :D

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_Estel ran. His legs burned, and a stitch grew in his side, making his breathing harsh. But he couldn't stop. If he did, someone would die. But he knew of no one in danger. 'Then why are you running?' a small voice asked. He had no answer._

_But he kept running. Something told him that if he did not continue, a life would be lost unnecessarily. As he neared the cliffs bordering the stretch downriver from the waterfall, he could dimly hear the sounds of battle, even over the rushing water._

_Rough yells and cries mingled with an animal's roar. Hot as he was, Estel's blood froze. Orcs and Wargs so close to Rivendell was incredible, the creatures never ventured this close to the safe haven of Imladris._

_But it was even more dangerous for whoever was trapped up there. For a second, Estel's heart stopped beating. What if one of the twins was trapped? He quickly dismissed the idea: he had seen them in the library on the way out. But no Rivendell patrols were out. A group of visitors maybe?_

_His musings were abruptly cut short. A tall figure appeared at the edge of the cliff, slim and leaning heavily to one side. Smaller, more numerous figures crept into his line of vision. The tall figure exploded into motion, and Estel knew at once it was an elf._

_It moved gracefully although slow with exhaustion and injury. The orcs didn't stand a chance. One by one they were cut down by the elf's twin knives. Estel stood frozen, not even feeling his thin boots sink into the snow as a large bulky orc crept up behind the unsuspecting elf._

_The human opened his mouth to warn the Eldar, but no sound came out. The elf spun after dispatching his last opponent, spotting the orc too late as the creature swung its heavy blade for the fatal blow._

_The elf brought his left arm up to parry with amazing speed but it was far too late. The orcan blade skipped over the slender elven knife. The elf twisted desperately, but the blade found its mark deep in the elf's side._

_The Eldar stumbled backward, teetering on the edge of the cliff. He valiantly fought the pull of gravity, but the pull proved too much, and the elf fell, plummeting to the cold waters below. The orc raised its blood stained sword and roared its victory._

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Estel came awake with a start. He was home, safe in his own bed, but the dream remained deep in his stomach, the foreboding seemed to grow. The early morning sunlight streamed in through his window. The human sighed and ran his hands through his shoulder-length dark hair. "Now I will have to go look."

The tight feeling across his chest worsened. He dressed quickly and began to sneak out of his room, intent on escaping before—"Estel!" Drats.

The twins staggered out of their separate rooms, wiping the sleep from their eyes. "Where are you going?" a sleepy Elrohir yawned.

"The cliffs." He answered tersely as the tightness flooded over him. "I think—someone might be in danger." The twins exchanged worried glances. "No, you don't need to come with me," he added quickly, seeing Elladan open his mouth to protest. "What time did you get home last night? Three? Four?"

Elladan and Elrohir had been out hunting orcs in an effort to take their frustrations out on the foul creatures who took the lives of their mother and best friend. No more than eight months had passed since Mirkwood sent word that Legolas Greenleaf, Thrandulion, was dead, killed while riding near the eastern border. When patrols were sent, all that had been found were signs of a struggle: orc bodies and a large amount of blood, both black orcish, and the vibrant red of the elves.

The twins were greatly depressed and were quiet for days after receiving the news. As their grief began to numb, anger replaced their immediate sadness. And the hunting continued, with a new edge. "No, we'll come. Horses?"

Estel sighed, then drew in a surprised breath as the feeling turned into desperation. "Yes. We must go now!"

Estel felt the movement of his horse underneath him, but his mind was totally fixed on the scenery around. "It is just… there!" he slipped off of Jelios and raced toward the spot that attracted his attention. Elladan followed, with Elrohir close behind.

"By the Valar…"

Dead orcs and wargs littered the ground. The ugly black blood pooled on the ground, the snow's whiteness marred. Estel looked closer and saw a brilliant red, mixed in with the black to create a morbid painting.

Arrows protruded from the wargs, while the orcs were obviously killed with a knife. Trampled snow led directly up to the edge of the cliff. Here, more blood was spilt, this time mainly red. Estel remembered his dream, the orc plunging it's blade into the elf's side… _No. It couldn't be._

But, was this just a bizarre coincidence? Estel remembered the elf's plunge into the river and leaped up. Elladan looked up startled from examining a body. "We have to go look downriver."

Without a word, the three began to make their way down the cliff, using an old mule trail etched into the side. The rock proved slippery, and Estel cursed heavily as his foot slipped. Elrohir gave him a cuff on the head, although he was smiling. "Now, Estel, what would Ada say if he heard that king of language? You are but fifteen, young even for a human."

"Don't you start with the 'humans are inferior' thing again," Estel warned as he leapt the last 5 feet to the ground. "Just because you have pointed ears…"

"We don't get sick either," pointed out Elladan.

"And we walk on the snow instead of in it," Elrohir said, sticking his tongue out at the ranger as he passed the human struggling through the snow.

It was childish, he knew, but Estel poked his tongue right back. "Hmmph." His eyes traveled downriver, and widened in shock. "_En!"_

He raced forward, paying no heed to the stones that slid dangerously under his feet, the twins close behind. Lying on a slim stretch of riverbank, was the limp form of an elf.

The Eldar lay half on his side, blonde hair soaked and streaming with water. The elf's face was caked with blood and mud, it was impossible to see any identifying features. A deep wound was gouged into his side, and the left arm was crooked, revealing a broken bone above the wrist. Many cuts and bruises could be seen underneath the mud, and a large gash ran along his forehead.

Estel dropped onto his knees and felt frantically for a pulse. Yes, it was there, but very weak. The elf would die if he did not get immediate attention. "One of you go back and warn Ada. We have to get him out of here."

Elladan turned and, nearly tripping in his haste, raced for the cliff. Estel turned to Elrohir and together, they gently lifted the elf, marveling at how light the being was. Navigating the cliff would be very difficult, but possible.

The trail was rough, and many times either one or the other would slip, nearly pulling the unconscious elf over the edge. Although the elf was very light, after carrying the limp body up a steep mountain, "We might as well be carrying _you,_Estel."

Estel was huffing too much to reply, but he made a face at his brother and took a better hold.

Elladan was long gone by the time they reached the top to stand for a bit, gasping for air. Estel mounted his horse, and Elrohir handed the elf up after him. Estel let the elf slump back against him, and took hold of the reins.

Elrohir watched with a half amused, half sad look. When Estel questioned him, he simply answered, "He looks so familiar, but... it can't be who I think it is." Estel kicked his horse into a gentle walk and let the comment go.

They went as fast as they dared, but it still took nearly twenty minutes to make the last mile. As they entered through the gates, they were met by Elrond, who quickly took over the situation. Before either human or elf could determine what happened, they were in a small room and scurrying to Elrond's commands.

"Water, bandages, sponge –don't just stand there _ion nin_- go get them!" Elrond took a pair of scissors and carefully cut through the sodden tunic, peeling it away from the elf's skin. Bruising along the right side stood out glaringly against the pale skin, but Elrond was much more concerned with the wound from the sword.

Estel hurried back into the room, laden with buckets of warm water and sponges. Elrond took one of them and set to tending the still-bleeding gash. Estel took the other and, under his father's instruction, began to clean off the elf's face.

As Elrond stopped the bleeding and began to stitch the wound closed, porcelain features were slowly revealed. The master of Rivendell paused in his work to check the pupils of his patient, which he announced were just slightly dilated, but there was no immediate danger. Estel caught sight of piercing blue eyes before the lids closed.

The young human continued his task, cleaning out the gash on the elf's forehead and removing all traces of nature. Elrond stood up straight, having finished bandaging the side and taping several broken ribs.

The twins entered the room and spotted the patient just as their father did. Estel did not notice the sudden silence as he stared at the elf. Something was troubling him: he knew this person, but could not place either memory or name to the face.

Suddenly, two shocked elves were beside him, staring down at the motionless figure. "Ada.." Elladan whispered, softly, as if he did not trust himself to speak. "Is that?"

"Legolas."

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_TBC_


	2. Awakening

**Disclaimer:** I will own them one day, yes I will my precious... They will be mine... the elves and humans, and hobbitses. Not now. But someday, yessss...

**AN**: (Edited 5 April, 2010)

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Estel looked at the twins, highly confused. "Legolas? But he's dead… isn't he?"

Elrond continued his methodical healing and bandaging with steady hands, although his answer was somewhat shaken, "Well, apparently not."

"But-but the message, all the evidence… is wrong?"

Estel looked at his brothers shrewdly. "If you are his best friends, why aren't you happy to learn he is not dead?"

The twins looked at each other, ashamed. "We are, we are!" Elladan exclaimed, his brother nodding furiously. "It's just a surprise! Imagine if you thought one of us was dead, and resigned yourself to believing it. And then we reappear, alive."

Elrohir studied the elf intently. "Ada, are you positive it's him? Look how thin he is, I can't believe it. Where's he been? What happened? How does—"

Elladan clapped a hand over his twin's mouth. "Always with the questions, little brother! You know as well as I that this is Legolas. As for where he's been, only he can answer that."

Elrohir wriggled free and glared. But his face softened and he sat heavily in a chair, intending to stay right there until the prince awakened.

His father called for a servant, and told him in a low voice, "Send the fastest messenger we have to Mirkwood. Tell Thranduil that his son his alive." The servant's eyes widened and he raced away, nearly tripping in his haste.

Elrond turned to face the bed. His thoughts whirled then focused steadily. "How did you come across him, my sons?"

Estel sighed and began to relate the morning, from the beginning of the dream, to the finding of the body. "... and then we came here."

Elrond frowned slightly, and made a note to ask Estel more about the dream later. The _Edain_had never shown a sign of foresight, and this new development made him slightly nervous. His own foresight was twinging, and he knew this could only result in one thing: trouble.

But for now, all he could do was wait. Once the prince woke up, he might be able to shed some light on recent events. The healer passed over to the window and watched as a lone figure raced east on horseback.

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Blackness. Pain. Legolas shifted uncomfortably. The pain didn't cease, in fact, it only made it worse. He struggled to pull himself away from the brink of unconsciousness. The brink… _he teetered, desperately trying to stay upright. The river thundered below, the orc watched impassively…_

The flash of memory vanished, leaving him in the dark. He shifted again, and tried to open his eyes. He wanted to see, to see anything. Even a circle of orcs. But his eyes were so heavy, and his side throbbed in pain. Sleep sounded so good.

Voices reached his ears, but they were heavy, so far away… NO! He would not go to sleep. He needed to see his surroundings, know where he was. The stubborn part of him took over, and he forced his eyelids open a crack.

Blurred figures. Three sitting, one standing. But who were they? Friends? Enemies? Legolas struggled to comprehend what he saw. Unconsciously, his eyes opened all the way, and almost immediately, all four figures were at his side.

"Are you all right?"

One smacked the other on the back of the head and said, "Now _that_was a stupid question. How do you feel?"

Legolas cracked a half-grin and said in a croak, "Fine."

"Ask a stupid question…" the elf who'd been smacked told his friend.

The third figure tapped his shoulder to get his attention. "I want you to answer my questions, even if they seem strange. All right? Who are you?"

"L-legolas Thrandulion."

"Do you know who those two are?" The dark haired elf pointed to the pair who'd spoken earlier.

Legolas frowned. They seemed familiar, but he couldn't place…. The two stopped poking each other and looked at him, almost frightened. "I…" He blinked furiously, trying to clear his vision. "You're…" A flash of inspiration struck, and he smiled triumphantly. "Elladan and Elrohir. How could I forget?"

He turned to the third figure, and although his vision was still blurred, he knew exactly who this one was. "Lord Elrond. What a familiar scene."

Elrond laughed. "Yes, too familiar for my liking. Are you thirsty?"

Legolas nodded slightly. "After all the river water I swallowed, I shouldn't be, but yes." The twins slid their hands behind him and helped him to a sitting position. The prince stoically took the stabs of pain in silence, although he was grateful that no one seemed to notice the grimace of pain that marred his fair features.

Elrond pressed a cup into his hands, and Legolas sniffed it suspiciously. "This isn't one of those disgusting sleeping droughts, is it?"

The healer shook his head convincingly. "Just water."

Legolas shook his head but doubtfully took a sip. His relieved look made everyone laugh. The prince's attention fixed on the last figure, this one shorter than any of the elves. His gray eyes watched the elf alertly, taking in every movement. He turned slightly, and Legolas spotted rounded ears peek through the dark hair.

He smiled and said, "Well, Estel, is it not? You've grown! Tell me, have you yet learned to walk on the snow?"

The twins burst into laughter. Estel glared at them and stepped forward. "What?"

Legolas grinned at him. "Remember? You were only eight when I saw you last. I left for Mirkwood after a snowball fight, and you called after me, quite indignantly, 'Beware master elf, by the time you return, I will have learnt to walk on snow!'" He glanced at the twins who were still snickering. "I take it you haven't?"

Estel scowled, then smiled ruefully and shook his head. "No. And those two rub it in every chance they get! Gets rather annoying, to tell you the truth."

Legolas smiled, then turned his attention on Elrond. "Something is wrong. I can tell. What is it?"

Elrond looked at Legolas, not at all confused. Legolas was very perceptive. "Do you not recall anything? Where have you been?"

Legolas raised his eyebrows. The question took him by surprise. "Well… in Mirkwood for the past 7 years, of course. To tell you the truth, I'm... actually not sure how I got here."

Elrond exchanged glances with his sons. "Legolas, you've been missing for eight months. Every elf in Mirkwood , Rivendell, and Lothlorien thinks you're dead."

Legolas' jaw dropped. "What?"

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**AN:** Sorry short chappy. Let me know how you like it please! Feed my muse with reviews! Thanks for reading!


	3. Sneaking About

**Disclaimer:** Must we go through this again? It really hurts me to say I don't own them, so can I not do these annoying things? Sigh... if I must...

**AN:** (Edited 5 April, 2010) OMG! You guys! I'm so happy you all liked it, sniffs tearfully and reaches for a tissue I'm loving the reviews! Hopefully ya'll will keep reading, it makes me happy... sends virtual flowers to all reviewers Thanx so much! I'll go through at the end of the chapter and credit and answer questions from reviewers.

**Special note:**Thanks so much to KMSOrligirl for the best review I've ever gotten! (It inspired me so much, I had to sit down and crank out another chapp) This chapter is dedicated to you!

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Legolas struggled to get his mind around the fact that the entire elven population thought him dead. "But--but I don't understand. I couldn't--eight _months?"_

Elrond gently laid a hand on the prince's shoulder. "You do not remember? How you got here, where you've been, how you've sustained these injuries?" Legolas shook his head slowly, blue eyes never leaving the healer's face.

Elrond shook his head sadly. For a split second he imagined Thranduil's reaction. The images made him shudder, and he quickly turned his attention back to Legolas, who was shaking his head in confusion. "Tell me _penneth._What _do_you remember?"

Legolas narrowed his eyes in concentration. "Well, leaving the palace. At least, I _think_ it was the palace… I was riding Kilios, and all I was doing was taking him out for a run. We were near the eastern border, I believe. It was beginning to get dark, I turned Kilios around and…" Legolas paused.

Now, he could _tell_ something was missing here. But heavy darkness surrounded these thoughts, making them difficult to get at. Obviously something happened, the pain in his side was clear enough. But the further he probed, the deeper the memories sank and the heavier the mists grew.

He shrugged, clearly upset about this new twist of fate. Elrond didn't press the issue. Maybe the memories would come back if left alone. "We sent a messenger to your father. He left yesterday."

Legolas nodded slightly in thanks. Slumping back against his pillows, his eyes shut, as though in concentration. But the twins and Estel knew better.

"Ada!" Elladan said in protest.

"You said you didn't drug it!" Elrohir cut in accusingly.

Elrond shrugged, impassive. "It is not a drug. A simple herb is all. I just didn't put very much in. Sleep will do him good."

Estel remained silent. His own memory, though not as clear or long lasting as the elves, was very precious to him. Without it, how would he remember his tracking skills, to use a sword, which of the twins he was supposed to be mad at? How would he fare? It must be so much worse for an elf, who was used to recalling things nearly a millennia later, clear as the day it happened?

Although, he could remember many things from when he was younger, he remembered the day he first met Legolas with good clarity. Although, when you meet somebody, they tend to be conscious. He remembered all the pranks that had followed. And the annoyance of his father, who kept having to treat cuts and bruises (and broken bones, sprains, dislocated joints and twisted ankles), his only reward being a nice flight up into the trees, courtesy of the twins.

"What are you thinking about, Estel?" Elrond's voice was soft. Estel started suddenly, twisting in his chair.

"N-nothing, Ada. I just… well, I'm confused. How did he lose his memory? There are no wounds on his head other than the gash, but that's just superficial… it's strange is all."

Elrond nodded heavily. "We will have to wait and see, Estel. That's all we can do now." His brows drew together, nearly meeting across the bridge of his nose. "Orcs so close to Rivendell worries me though. They have never ventured this close before. Nor would they spare so many to recapture one elf. You said there were eight dead and one warg?"

Estel nodded. "And if it happened as it did in my dream, one ran after running Legolas through. Maybe they were just a scout party?" They fell silent, each of them wondering about the events that led up to the past day.

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Elladan sat up with a start. His twin gave a snort and turned in his chair. Elladan threw a pillow at him, the soft missile colliding firmly in Elrohir's face. "Ai! Why you…"

The elder twin shushed him and pointed at the bed. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, eyes shut, mumbling softly, too softly for even elven ears. Elrohir moved closer and bent near his friend, hoping to catch some of the words.

"_Gwar Glamog!_" The sudden burst of sound sent Elrohir's head flying backwards, crashing into Elladan's nose as the elder twin tried (too slow) to get out of the way. Blood trickled down, but he was rooted in place, not even noticing as he listened in amazement to the words pouring from Legolas' mouth.

"No, you cannot do this!…. You dirty spawns of Mordor!_ Amin feuya ten' lle."_

Legolas stopped spouting nonsense and his eyes flew open. "What…?"

"A dream." Elladan reassured, pinching his nose. Elrohir handed him a cloth. "Right?"

Legolas nodded uncertainly. Then a thought occurred to him, and his eyes narrowed. "Your Ada! He did it, didn't he? I should have known!" As the twins started to laugh, he crossed his good arm across his chest and pouted exaggeratedly.

The dream hadn't really felt like one. It seemed real. Like a memory. But the orcs had never… had they? He stared up at the ceiling, wishing it were sky. "I want to go outside."

The twins stopped laughing and began to protest violently. "Ada would kill us!" Elladan proclaimed. "You're not better, it's only been three days for Valar's sake!"

"Yes, but—three _days?_How did—"

"You were unconscious when we brought you in early two mornings ago. You woke yesterday afternoon for about 20 minutes, and it's just before supper right now."

"Oh…" Legolas contemplated the spectacle he'd probably made for a second, then stubbornly returned to his original topic. "I want to go outside. I don't like being stuck in here. I want to talk to the trees."

"But Ada said he'd skin us if we let you out today!" Elrohir protested. "He wants us to help you regain some of your memory!"

"Maybe the trees will help." Legolas replied shrewdly, a tone of voice that really didn't suit him, Elrohir thought. He exchanged a glance with Elladan and sighed.

"You are such a royal brat, _my prince._" Legolas simply smiled and held out his hand. He knew that they would give in, they always did. And he really did feel fine, apart from his headache and occasional stab in his side. The broken bones were already healing, his elven ability quickening the process. The stab wound wasn't coming along as fast, but he had good faith in his healing ability. Regularly pushing it to the limit gave you a feel for it after awhile.

The twins helped him to his feet, slowly but surely, not bothering to argue anymore. It was totally and completely pointless. "As long as we don't go past the courtyard." Elladan warned.

"Yes, if all three of us venture out of Rivendell's walls, we'll be attacked by something or other."

Legolas smiled as he listened to the twin's chatter. It had been seven long years since he had seen them last, not counting the mysterious eight months. His father's court was nice, but it lacked the variety of mischief Rivendell offered.

They made their way down the halls carefully, mindful of both Legolas' injuries and any alcoves that Elrond could be hiding in. One of the twins would dart along a corridor, glancing at doors and branching hallways, then run back and help the prince along. Sneaking out was so much fun!

Instead of taking the front way out, they slipped out a side door into the garden. Legolas sighed happily as the wind hit his face. Snow floated down, but he didn't feel the cold, and where any human would have fallen through several feet, they walked along the crust, leaving barely a trace.

A large tree grew in the center of the garden, and that's where Legolas headed. Sinking down on the bench, he leaned against the tree to catch his breath, and ease into the tree's sense of time.

"_It is good to see you again, my friend."_The great oak's thought was a beautiful baritone, aged with wisdom and time.

"_Mae govannen. I have… a question."_

"_You wish to know what has happened to you. Why you cannot remember the past months."_

Legolas nodded, not at all surprised that the oak had read his thoughts. The tree had a wonderful gift for communicating with the Eldar, better than many trees even in Mirkwood.

"_I am sorry, penneth. I cannot tell you. You must learn for yourself. Do not despair! Your memory shall return, almost definitely. But when, I do not know. Your friends will help you through the coming months. Trust them."_

"_I… guess I understand. Hannon le, mellon nin."_

The prince pulled free from the tree's grasp and opened his eyes, only to find a pair of grey ones looking straight back. Legolas gasped in surprise and scooted sideways-- only to find that the bench ended rather abruptly six inches to his right.

With a yelp, he went down, flat on his back. The grey eyed person bent over him quickly. "I'm sorry, I didn't think you'd move so fast. Are you all right?"

Legolas smiled painfully. "It's fine. You startled me. I didn't know a human could move so silently! Well done!"

Estel accepted the praise with downcast eyes, and offered a hand. He knew he had hurt the elf, although he himself had not actually pushed the prince off the bench. "It was not so difficult." He admitted as Legolas gripped his hand. "You were so deep inside the tree that even one of the twins could have snuck up on you."

A snowball exploded over the back of his head, coating both him and the elf with bits of snow. "Would you like to repeat that?" Elladan asked dangerously. Elrohir moved up beside his brother, tossing a snowball from hand to hand.

Estel gently brought Legolas back to his perch on the bench, then turned to face his brothers. "I would have thought that your pointy ears would hear that. Surely you are not deaf as well as unintelligent?"

Snowballs quickly covered the three, and though Estel was outnumbered, he put up a courageous fight. However, you tend to lose when an elf jumps on you from behind and pins your head under the snow.

Legolas laughed as Estel struggled to throw Elrohir off. Finally, he went limp and mumbled, "That's not fair!"

Elrohir clambered to his feet and leaped back on top of the snow. "Now Estel, by experience, you should know that we don't fight fair. Remember your 13th birthday? It wasn't fair that we dumped you into the fountain at three in the morning, was it?"

Elladan smiled reminiscently. "Good days, good days. You should go dry off. And as for you," he turned to Legolas, "you've been outside, now let's go back in before Ada—"

"Discovers you're gone and decides to issue some very unusual punishment?"

The four froze and looked to the door. Elrond stood there, leaning against the frame, a strange look upon his face.

Elladan and Estel grasped Legolas and pulled him to his feet. Moving fast as possible, they slipped past Elrond and hustled back up to the room. Behind them, they could hear Elrohir's plaintive voice, "Honestly, Ada, it was all his idea! You know how he is!"

"He's blaming me, isn't he?"

"Well, it is your fault. You just _had_to go outside. Now Ada's going to… you heard him! He'll make us clean the entire stables again! Do you know how long it took me to get the manure out of my clothes?"

Legolas paused outside his door. Raising an eyebrow, he asked, "You're still afraid of your Ada? You're nearly three millennia of age!"

Estel shrugged. "You will face a squadron of orcs with nothing but your swords, and you are afraid of Ada, and his punishments? Obviously you have your priorities crossed."

The twin glowered fiercely. "Give me a break! You both know what he does when he's mad at us! Chores, testing new nasty tasting herbs, chores, chores, dinner, chores, muck out the entire stable, more chores, shower, bed. All day. Every day. And don't put it above him to recreate a prank. He can, and he— whoa!"

Legolas tipped forward, sliding out of his friend's grasps. He had not even been paying attention. The stab wound in his side had flared up again, but this time, the ache did not cease. Fiery bolts of throbbing pain coursed through his veins, weakening him more effectively than the strongest sleeping drought.

He wasn't even aware of Estel catching him an instant before he struck the hard floor.


	4. Poisons

**Disclaimer:** (shrieks and points at something over Tolkien's head. Grabs the rights to LotR and runs. Police run after and capture. Led away in handcuffs) Well, I tried. They're not mine.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) I'm sooo sorry it's taken me so long, but I made the mistake of starting another fic, and now I'm desperately trying to keep them straight, going back and forth between the two doesn't exactly get anything done, ya know? No internet access will also complicate things. And I'm stuck. I had only planned half of chapter one, so I'm going on instinct now. Forgive me for the long lapses of time please!

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Estel felt Legolas simply drop, as though his legs had been cut out from under him. The human tightened his grip, just barely saving the elf from cracking his head against the stone floor.

Elladan went running back along the corridors yelling for Elrond, leaving Estel to carry the limp elf into the room. It frightened him how light the elf was, light enough for him to pick him up with almost no difficulty.

He kicked the door open and strode in, gently depositing Legolas on the bed. The elven prince was totally unresponsive, yet his eyes were wide open. Not slightly glazed over as if he was sleeping, just blank. Somehow this frightened Estel more than anything.

Estel placed his fingers against Legolas' limp wrist, searching for a pulse. A faint but steady _thump_reassured him there was no immediate danger. But then—

"What happened?" Elrond flew into the room, closely followed by his sons.

"I don't know, he just… collapsed. But he was fine a few minutes ago!"

Elrond unbuttoned the elf's silver tunic and unwrapped the bandages around his left side. Even the seasoned healer couldn't hold back a sharp intake of breath as the ragged slash came into view.

The surrounding skin was swiftly turning black, with shoots of red snaking away from the center. Legolas' elven healing had, if anything, been repelled, pushed away from this area.

Elrond paled slightly. He remembered this, from somewhere, more than three thousand years ago, a bare hundred before the Battle in which the Ring was lost. "Poison."

"What?" his sons were aghast at the idea, and Elrohir protested violently. "But Ada, you must be mistaken!"

"Yes!" Elladan jumped in, quickly. "Orcan poison works within hours, and it has been over three days! No type of poison the orcs have does this!"

Elrond was taken aback at the venom in the twin's voice. "I am not mistaken, _ion-nin._I wish I were, but there is no—"

"You must be wrong!" Elrohir sat heavily down in a chair, voice cracking.

"Wait!" Elladan rushed up to his father, turning the elder elf and looking into his eyes. "If you know what it is, you can get the cure, right?"

Estel pulled gently at his brother's arm and guided him to a chair. He did not understand what was so wrong. His brothers _never_behaved like this. "Let him explain! I don't know what's wrong with you, but jumping down Ada's throat won't help anything! Honestly, you ought to know better! You're 2, 807 years old for the Valar's sake! Act like it!"

Silence fell in the room, as all turned to look confusedly at the young human. Estel rarely snapped, or criticized his (much) older brothers.

"Ada, what's wrong with him?"

Elrond sighed and sat on the end of the bed. "There is nothing I can do to help him. This is a poison of the will."

"Then, there is nothing…." Elladan asked numbly.

His Ada shook his head. "No, the fight takes place mentally, as well as physically. The poison dominates the will and erases the determination to live, the spirit. It's battle of the mind, and cannot be fought with mere herbs."

"Then he has a good chance!" Elrohir exclaimed excitedly. "Legolas is the most willful, stubborn, obstinate elf I've ever met! That poison won't stand a chance! Right?" he added uncertainly as his Ada did not answer.

Elrond was staring off into the distance, an odd look on his face. "It was late in the Second Age last I saw this. Elves died, many of them. The poison does not affect Men or Dwarves, just the Eldar. Elves watched as their friends and family wasted away, dying right in front of their eyes. Herbs, medical knowledge… no use." He stared at each of his sons, pinning each of them with the intensity of his gaze. "Only six of the two thousand that were diagnosed survived."

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Silence reigned in the little room. The twins sank back in their chairs stunned and silent. At least, for a few seconds. The Elrohir was gone, out the door to search for references in the library, and Elladan all but attacked his Ada, asking tons of questions about the survivors and if they had any things in common.

Estel watched half in amusement, half regretful. His brothers were obviously going to be fighting along with their friend, if not for him, at least in spirit. The last the human had seen Legolas was seven years ago, and only then for several weeks. While he and the prince had become friends, he did not share the special bond that the twins did. After all, several weeks doesn't compare to two and half thousand years of friendship.

Nevertheless, Estel was determined to help his old partner-in-crime. (Legolas had teamed up with him to prank the twins many times.) Turning, he went out of the room to go help Elrohir look in the library.

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_Swirling blackness lifted ever so slightly, revealing shapes, with indiscernible features, yet he knew them somehow…_

_Rough voices in a grating tongue reached his ears, along with a defiant reply in Sindarin. The slimmest figure was pushed back against a tree, and a squat, bow-legged creature reached up and slapped him across the face…_

_The scene spun out of sight and was replaced by a new one, again with no discernable features. The slim figure was being dragged unceremoniously along a forest path by the short creatures, by the looks of them, orcs or goblins._

"_This one's trouble, boss. 'E's an awful brat. Why can't we just kill 'im and leave the body at the border?"_

"_You know who 'e is? What a pretty bargaining piece… of course, they can't get 'im back unmarked can they?" The orc (or goblin) unfurled a whip, the glass edged tip glinting._

_A scream of pain echoed through the air, the first of many more to come. "Come on, my pet," coaxed the creature. "Tell us a few things and we'll let you go. 'ow do you get into Mirkwood's palace? If anyone knows, it's you. Come on, elfie. It can't be that 'ard."_

_The elf looked up wearily. The blurred features radiated defiance and pain. "You may just as well kill me. I will not give my people up to a blasted_yrch!_"_

_The whip flashed._

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A slight movement brought Elrond to the prince's side in a flash. More than twelve hours had passed since his collapse, and Elrond was beginning to lose whatever hope he had. Movement was a good sign, it showed that the poison had not taken an entire grip yet.

"_Penneth,_can you hear me? All is well, you have nothing to fear."

"I do not fear death, but my people have reason to dread the dawning of the sun."

Elrond jerked in surprise. The words were spoken matter-of-factly, yet with a ring of deep sorrow. Legolas' eyes remained blank, and there was no other sign of life after those seventeen words.

"Ada, what's wrong?" Elladan asked, entering the room. Noting the slight shock on his father's face he added quickly, "What happened, is he all right?"

Elrohir came in behind him, arms full of books. "Absolutely no mention of the damned—Ada?"

Elrond related what had transpired, shaking his head slowly, not understanding. A ray of light burst through the window, the first light of the new dawn. The master of Imladris turned his attention to the west, wondering what events were brought in with the sun.

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Iladrion packed up his sparse camp and saddled his roan mare. Mirkwood's boundaries loomed ahead of him, and he was determined to bring the news of its prince's return to the king this day.

He mounted his horse and nudged her into a canter. She was tired; he had pushed her an awful lot these past few days, such was his haste.

The trees closed over his head, and Iladrion sighed happily. He always had liked the forest of Mirkwood, despite the many dangers lurking there. He was half Wood-elf himself, and he often dreamed of coming to live among the great, wise trees of this old wood, if he could bear to leave Imladris, where he was raised.

Reaching out to touch the trees as he passed, he caught glimpses of their personalities as they greeted him. A grumpy old willow tree spared a fleeting _well met,_while a young springy ash greeted him warmly. And a wise old oak spoke stiffly, much like its tough bark, hard on the outside, but friendly in its heart.

In this way, Iladrion eased miles away, not noticing as the sun reached its mid-day point. But he did notice as the trees began to press in, fearful, warning of something ahead. The elf frowned, speeding into a gallop.

The trees were not often afraid, having seen many a warg, wolf, orc and spider pass beneath their boughs, yet, they were scared now. As the elf drew closer to Thranduil's palace, the tree's voices nearly over whelmed him. And when he came to the beginning of the open foothills of the mountain palace, the voices stopped altogether.

The realm of Mirkwood was awash in blood. Bodies lay everywhere, _elleth_s and _penneth_s along with warriors. Iladrion dismounted from the mare and raced along the main path to the palace. He stumbled twice, over abandoned weapons, caught himself and pressed on.

The heavy doors of Mirkwood's palace were ajar, an elfin body in the path of the magical door. Iladrion slowed, fearing what he would find next. For the next room was the king's hall.

In this room, some of the mystery was solved. Orc corpses littered the floor, black blood staining the polished stone. Arrows lay scattered across the hall. And at the end, five elven-folk were sprawled face down, still clutching weapons. One of them wore a silver crown.

The half Wood-elf turned, entirely definite of racing straight back to Imladris. An orcan club smashed into his skull, and he collapsed, one more elf among so many others.


	5. Pranks

**Disclaimer: **I love elves, oh yes I do! Hobbits, dwarves, and wizards too! But everyone knows they're Tolkien's. (I think)

**AN: **Sigh. My updating skills are highly awful. I do believe the word you'll hear most out of me is 'sorry'. I've heard a rumor that is kicking people off for doing review replies. Is that true? Bit lighter chappy, but still provoking. (I hope) Enjoy!

**Observation: **Ok, has anyone besides me noticed that Legolas _never _sits? You see him sitting in the Council of Elrond, in the Lothlorien boats, and on a horse (if you can call that sitting). Other that that, he's always standing up. Always! Sorry, it just struck me, and it's been bugging me. Thought ya'll should know, though I'm not sure why you'd care.

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"Ada, is something wrong?"

"Hush!" Elrohir admonished. "I don't know if I could stand any more bad news." He dropped a bunch of scrolls on a chair and left—presumably back to the library.

Elrond turned from the window, smiling at his foster son. It still tickled him to hear a young human call him Ada. But the smile quickly disappeared. "I am worried. I think, that hope is finally beginning to run out."

"That's not true!" Estel shot back. "We—"

"Have been doing a wonderful job. But I believe that we have done all we can. There is no noticeable similarities in the elves that survived, save one. They all responded clearly within 32 hours of the collapse."

The master or Imladris sat down slowly, eyes never leaving Estel's grey. "What I mean is, it has been nearly four days since the wound was inflicted, and 12 hours since the poison began to take effect. In that amount of time, one sentence had been spoken, and it was not clear whether he knew what was going on around him or not. If something drastic does not take place within the next 20 hours, we must be prepared for the worst."

Estel almost expected a roll of thunder to follow his father's words. But though clouds covered the sky, and whispers of the mourning trees filled the air, a thunderstorm would be long in the making.

Elrond sighed inwardly, wishing there was some way to soften the news. But he did not believe in giving false hope. If the worst _did _come to pass, the longer and harder the fall would be.

He dreaded telling the twins.

Estel sighed and got up to make his way to the kitchens, he always liked a small slice of cake when he was down. Pausing at the door, he remarked thoughtfully, "It seems strange—both twins are home and there has not been one single prank. Not that I _miss _it, but still…"

Elrond laughed gently. "It certainly is a break not to stretch my vocal cords. However, something normal would raise our spirits I suppose. And we need to keep them as high as possible. By the way, do not _ever _tell either of them that I almost wish they would get into trouble. I would most sincerely regret it."

Estel nodded, opened the door and stepped out. Heading for the kitchens, mind already looking forward to the comfort of chocolate, he completely failed to notice Elladan hidden in a nook, arms full of papers, a devilish smile upon his features.

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The Noldor looked up at the clock suspiciously. His sons had been missing for quite sometime. Nearly three hours to be exact. Long experience told him that was a thing to be feared.

Glancing at the bed quickly, (no improvement) he got up and moved cautiously to the door. It was securely shut, nothing balanced on top. Moving with the exceptional grace and speed of his kind, he threw open the door and darted out, diving in a roll and coming up against the far wall.

A passing servant looked surprised, but only briefly, the expression quickly changing to one of ill-concealed pity. Elrond knew it was pointless to interrogate the maid, but fell in step beside her all the same.

Coming close to the end of the hall, the maid entered a room to the left. Elrond continued toward the large deep fountain feeling slightly better. _I am probably just being paranoid. If something has not happened yet, it probably never will. They may have lost track of time, or found some particular item of interest. _

Letting up his guard, he walked faster, ignoring (or most likely unaware) of the things his brain was shouting out at him. _You know better than that, that's just what they want you to think! _

Halted by sudden misgivings, he turned back the way he had come, searching for signs of sneaking twins. And there was where he made the biggest mistake of all.

He took a single step backwards, intending to continue on his way. His foot entangled in the slim, almost-invisible mat of fishing line. The lines on either side tightened, effectively flinging him up and backwards.

He landed in the fountain with a mammoth splash. Water sprayed everywhere, and to the gleeful pairs of eyes watching in the dark, it appeared that a large dark sea monster from the legends had surfaced.

Elrond wiped his eyes furiously and grasped for the edge of the fountain. His reaching fingers tripped another wire, and quite suddenly, the fountain, himself, and the immediate area was covered in flour.

A pair of giggling elves collapsed out of the shadows.

"Did you see his face, 'Ro?"

"Aye, I think we scared him this time brother."

Elrond stuck a finger into his mouth and wiped out some sodden flour paste. A crash to his left brought his attention to his foster son, plate, cake and fork at the boy's feet in pieces. The look of surprise was fast changing to one of delight.

Elrond quickly snatched the twins and turned, depositing them into the fountain. As they surfaced, still giggling, he told them that they would clean it up, not one of the servants. And then they were to meet him in his study in three hours time.

He called Estel to go into the prince's room and keep watch while he took a quick bath. As he strode down the hallway, he could not help but let a small grin take his face. He was most careful not to let anyone see.

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At about the same time the master of Imladris was flying through the air, Legolas shuddered slightly and turned to the right, his first movement in more than 12 hours. He did not wake. And his dreams, if that's what they truly were, became more vivid.

_The mist parted to reveal an elf chained roughly to a tree, one of the few in the high passes of the Misty Mountains. Stretched out before him was a small orcan camp. If you _could_ call it a camp, the elf thought dejectedly._

_A place with rotting meat and the even greater stench of orcs sprawled out, snoring, dribbling and spitting does not make for a fine campingsite._

_The elf turned his gaze toward the East. He worried for his kindred. Not for himself, not even with more cuts and bruises than ever, and several broken ribs, but for his homeland. They were in great danger, and they did not even know it. How could they protect themselves against such odds if they had no warnings?_

_Even the skilled warriors, though brave and dangerous, would not be able to hold off this army._

_A large orc rose and walked/limped over to the elf, who noted with a small pang of satisfaction that the wound he had inflicted several days before had become infected. But on the outside, he was careful to keep his face blank. Experience at the hands of these creatures had taught him much. They would not hesitate to wipe the smile from his face._

"_You. Look at me, you filthy pointy-ear."_

_The Mirkwood elf did so, thinking inwardly and indignantly, _Calls _me _filthy! Look at him, with his oozing sores, skin that has not been washed in months, breath so awful it would fell a deer at fifty yards!

"That's right. Now. Are you going to be a good prisoner and tell me 'ow to get past those guards of the palace?"

_The warrior remained silent, as he had so many times before, knowing what would come next, willing to endure if only to prevent the destruction of his people._

_The orc scowled and reached for a many-pronged whip._

_The pass echoed only once with a scream. The elf sagged against his chain, no longer able to hold up his head. Through his darkening vision, he saw his life-blood slowly darken the ground around him._

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Elrond pulled on a comfortable robe and exited his quarters. He headed toward the little room at the end of the hall. His thoughts and worries, which had dissolved with the comfort of a bath, began to trickle back.

He opened the door and was nearly bowled over by Estel. "Ada, oh good, you're here, come, I'm not sure what happened, well actually I am but—"

"Hush!" Elrond had caught sight of Legolas, blood slowly darkening the bandages on his side.

The healer moved forward quickly and began to undo the cloths. "Can you tell me what happened? Slowly? And intelligibly?"

Estel nodded, took a breath and began, knowing how important it was for him to get the facts straight. "It did not happen long ago, barely ten minutes. I was eating a replacement slice of cake that I made Elrohir go and get for me.

"I do not know whether he was dreaming or sinking into delirium, but he began to shake as if with fever. He cried out in his own tongue, but I could not understand, he spoke too fast and low. He twisted over and I had to pin him down, I was scared he might fall. Ada, he's very strong, he almost threw me off. I think he thought I was an enemy.

"But then he stopped and seemed to become more aware of his surroundings. He did not exactly wake, or speak, but calmed and hissed something between his teeth. Something about Mirkwood… and blood."

Elrond finished cleaning the wound as Estel finished the story. "Strange… hand me that needle please, this needs to be stitched."

Something Estel had said penetrated through to Elrond's busy mind. Mirkwood… The elf he had sent, Iladri'on, should have already been there by now. That meant the king would be riding flat out to reach his son. How would he react to bad news? Would the king's joy turn into grief again? Elrond did not fancy telling the hot-tempered elf-king.

Estel was silent as his father worked, rubbing his arm where Legolas had grasped it hard enough to bruise during the incident. Thoughts whirled through his mind. It was all very strange…

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Iladri'on came back to consciousness slowly. Disoriented at first, he wondered why he was on the floor, not in bed and a great hulking creature over him. Hold on…

Memories came flooding back, his journey, warnings of the trees, Mirkwood's slaughter. He struggled to move, but his limbs were heavy, and his head ached.

The large figure bent down and swung the elf over it's back like a sack of potatoes. Iladri'on let out a silent gasp as the stench of the creature hit his sensitive nose. But what was it? A troll? But trolls were not bright enough to take Mirkwood by surprise.

Winding through the many passages of the palace, Iladri'on tried to make his cramped muscles do his bidding so he could get _out _of there, and back to Imladris. He succeeded only in irritating the creature (he could now see it was indeed a troll) and being shaken up and down.

Coming upon a spacious room, the troll dumped him unceremoniously to the floor and left. A hooded figure approached the injured elf. "Why are you here?"

Iladri'on shivered. This person's voice gave him the chills. He nearly backed down before remembering the many bodies that lay outside.

"What have you done? What harm have these people done to you?"

The person laughed, an icy sound with no mirth. "They are but the first. In time, all elves shall fall. My army and myself simply had an extra grudge against the king, so we came here first. Pity the fool's son is dead, I would have enjoyed killing that one."

Iladri'on's breath caught in his throat. Did this person have no idea? What army? How was the prince counted in all this? The questions and thoughts whirling through his mind gave him a pounding headache.

"You did not answer my question. Why have you killed them all?"

The figure had turned to leave. Now, he swung back, a note of reproach in his voice. "Come now, I thought elves were supposed to be smarter than that. Did I _say _they were dead?"

The half-Noldor's eyes widened. "N-not dead? But they were all—"

"Oh no." Iladri'on was sure that a grin was twisting whatever features this person had. "Compared to what I've done, death would only seem so sweet."

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**AN: **Sorry, I think this chappy is short…. The plot thickens. Don't kill me if I don't update for a bit, please, I'm going on a canoe trip down the Swanson the 18, 19 and 20. I'll try to get another chappy up before then.

I'm a bit nervous about doing the thanks, but I appreciate them so much, I'd really dislike my self if I didn't.

**Deana: **thanks!

**NuEvil: **heh heh, mad love for the cliffies! -pumps fist in air-

**Romen: **Love tree-talking, don't worry, more will come up soon!

**Swasti: **Thank, you, thank you very much. They're so much fun!

**KerowynGreenleaf: **Oo, you torture too? Must go read your stories… Thank you so much!

**Kyo's Babe: **Ya, Estel is Aragorn. I tend to refer to him a lot like that, but especially in this story 'cause he doesn't know about his past yet.

**Darklink231: **Torture… heh heh heh… ooo cookie! Yum! I know took me forever for this one too (hangs head)… oh well, better than quitting it right!

**Arialas: **-cringes- no, not quite out of mind… getting there… lol, out of everybody, you were the most indignant. Don't worry, I have plans for Mirkwood…

**Aurehen: **I don't mind weird. Hey, you're not weird, you're gifted. Cliffies are me friends… On your last chapter of TMDiaD, great job!

**Ireth: **well, if you continue reading my things (hint hint) I'm afraid you'll have to get used to them!


	6. Revenge

**Disclaimer:**Hmmm. First of all, the only thing I own is Iladri'on, and secondly, if you think I own the other people, you are sadly mistaken.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Sorry, no creativeness this time for the disclaimer, I'm running out of rhymes and songs. If you know of some that I haven't done yet, let me know!

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The door opened, and two heads poked in, wearing identical expressions of apprehension and barely concealed delight.

"Come in, you rotten little trouble-makers."

"Really, Ada, we're not little anymore." Elladan protested.

"Very well then. Omit the 'little' and come in anyway."

The twins entered the study, each nudging the other in hopes of not having to be first. Elladan won, and Elrohir approached Elrond's desk much as he would a troll's lair.

The Elven Lord peered over a tower of paperwork. His eyebrow rose as he saw his second-born glance over his shoulder for support. "Oh, come now, I am hardly going to bite your head off. I merely wish to ask you a few things. Sit."

Cautiously (Elrond's 'questions' were _never_ a good thing), the twins took a seat in the chairs they had come to think of affectionately as 'theirs'. "What would you like to… uh, ask us Ada?"

Elrond surveyed his sons closely and had to fight to hide his smile as he spotted flour-paste under their nails and traces of the white powder in their dark hair. "Whose idea was it?"

"His."

"His."

The twins spoke at the same time, fingers pointing accusingly at each other. At their Ada's stern look, they were quick to revise their answers.

"Well," Elladan admitted guiltily, "It was my idea to fling you into the fountain. But it was my little brother's idea to add the flour, which, you have to say, is certainly more destructive. Blame him."

At Elrohir's outraged look, the former quickly said, "But it was me who actually got the flour."

Elrohir reluctantly added, "But I set everything up while Elladan kept searching the library."

"So, I'd say it's pretty much equal." Elrond noted. The twins nodded resignedly. "Very well. You will both muck out the stables every other day for three weeks—whether the stables need it or not."

Groans followed the issuing of this punishment. Elrond let them go on for a few minutes, then continued. "Now, two more things. First of all, and be truthful! Did Estel have anything to do with this?"

Elladan shook his head. "I was –cough- about to come in, but then I heard our names, and 'trouble'. Do you honestly think I would walk into a room where it sounded like I was about to be punished?"

"So you eavesdropped." As his first-born nodded, Elrond shook his head. He was more disappointed in himself for speaking such things out loud. _If you wanted to tell Estel you wished them to get into trouble,_the little voice inside him railed, _you should have written it down, showed it to him, and then burned the paper!_

"The second matter, is Legolas." Seeing the fear and determination that spread over the twin's faces, Elrond's heart gave a twang. Valar, how he wished he did not have to tell them that their long-time friend was dying.

"My sons—"

Elrond was cut off by Estel's shriek at decibels much higher than a male's voice was meant to go.

"Legolas!"

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Elrond's papers went flying as he raced around his desk after the twin's retreating backs. They raced down the hallway fast as their legs could carry them. Turning the corner by the fountain, Elrond took the inside, gaining back the little distance he had lost in having to go around the desk.

The Peredhil family piled into the little room one after the other. The sight that greeted them was the most welcome they had seen in decades.

Legolas was leaning against the pillows, eyes open and sparkling, rubbing his pointed ears and saying, "Honestly, you don't have to scream at me, my ears work just fine!"

Elrond leaped to his feet (he had tripped and fallen as Elrohir came skidding into the room just behind) and made his way to the bed. "_Penneth,_you're awake! How do you feel? We were so worried—"

Any answer Legolas might have given was lost in the jubilant cheers of the twins, who bounced up and down where they stood, indeed, the only thing keeping them from leaping to the bed and crushing their friend in a hug was Elrond.

So they contented themselves with Estel. The human was jounced around wildly, but he soon let his brother's happiness overcome him as well.

"How do you feel?" Elrond shouted over the din. Estel managed to calm the twins enough to let Elrond conduct his little question and answer game.

"I feel… fine." Legolas sounded surprised himself. Catching the astonished and doubtful looks sent his way, he added, "Tired, and my side still hurts a bit, but all right."

"Can you remember anything else? I mean, you _do_know who we are, right?"

"Elladan, please. Am I, or am I not, the only elf who had ever tied you two in a prank war? We were 347, and my prank that tied the score was rigging a net that roped you two up an a tree in a rain storm in your nightclothes. And when you tried to sneak back into the house five hours later, who exactly dumped a bucket of worms down your backs?"

Elladan settled back in his chair, miffed. Elrohir sat back himself, cheeks flaming as he remembered the way they had yelled. Estel laughed happily, he had just realized the benefits of having a friend who was able to remember many of the things his older brothers 'forgot'.

Elrond smiled himself. On that occasion, he had been called upon to see that little Thranduilion did not accidentally find himself several feet below ground. He looked closer, seeing past the sparkle of happiness in Legolas' blue eyes.

"That's a wonderful example of what happened more than two thousand years ago. Can you tell us what happened in the last few months?"

A shadow passed over the elf's face. "Well, yes, kind of, that is, but… I'd—rather not speak of it now."

"All right, but I _will_ need to learn what has happened sooner or later. Your father will want to know too. I expect he will be here soon, riding as though a Nazgul were after him."

Elrond bent to check his patient's pupils. And was promptly rewarded with a smack in the forehead as two heads collided. Elrond jerked backwards and stared at the prince, who was staring at him with those startling blue eyes. "You sent someone with a message? To Mirkwood? _Now?_ No!"

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A chill ran down Iladri'on's spine. "Not—dead?"

"You really are a dumb one, aren't you? I've already said that."

The elf struggled to pull himself together. "What have you done then? Who are you? Why did you have a grudge against the king? If—"

The figure raised a hand, and quite suddenly, Iladri'on's tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. The elf cursed, but the curse was much less impressive when you couldn't understand what was being said.

"Now that I've got your attention, I'm not going to tell you what I've done, you'll have the pleasure of seeing for yourself in a short while. My name is not important right now, no doubt you'll discover it later… if you live that long." The cloaked figure spun gaily. "Such wonderful promises!"

Iladri'on fought the insane urge to get up and throttle the figure.

"As a matter of fact, my little half-Noldor friend, you just might end up with my armies. Wouldn't that be fun?"

"Mmph mammy phi—"

The figure cocked its head and put a hand in the general area of the ear. "Sorry, what was that? Oh… promise me you won't keep up a barrage of questions." At Iladri'on's nod, it snapped its fingers.

Iladri'on wiggled his tongue around in some relief. "You have armies? Of—what?"

The dark blue cloak spun out behind the figure as it leaped gracefully around the room. "Oh, orcs, trolls, wargs. There's an endless supply in this forest. It's easy enough to get them in my control."

The elf watched the graceful movements of the figure, quick and light, and comprehension dawned. "You're an elf, aren't you? Or rather, you _used_to be."

The figure stopped quite suddenly. "Maybe you're not quite as dim-witted as I thought." The happiness of the voice disappeared, and the figure turned away. Quick fingers unfastened the cloak and cast it aside. Long auburn hair cascaded down, loose, with no braids.

The once-elf turned slowly, and Iladri'on was struck by the harsh beauty of her face. Once, she had probably been one of the most beautiful elf-maidens. But now her features were gaunt, and hatred had worn through. Her green eyes flashed with contempt, and Iladri'on suddenly had a feeling he should run. Fast.

"You're right, young one. I was an elf once. I lived here in Mirkwood, two thousand years ago. I had power even then. Maybe not as well as I have it now, but enough for the rest of them to fear me.

"The elves, even my own family, rejected me, feared me. My family lived in a small home close to the palace. My father had me work in the palace for a time, but after a particular incident, I was bid to leave.

"When I say 'leave', I mean exile. I was a 'danger to everyone'. That's what the king said, but I know better. They were jealous of my talents. I was cast out like a nobody. I wandered alone for years, before encountering an ancient demon.

"This demon normally would have killed another elf, but my powers attracted it. The beast took me in and schooled me in the matter of old magic. My gift grew greater every day I spent with the wretched thing.

"When I had learned all I could, I left, with a burning desire for revenge against the beings who had cast me away. Many of my elf-like qualities were gone, the quick healing, the lightness, the ability to talk to trees. But I was left with my immortality and grace."

Iladri'on listened with growing horror. He could clearly see that the she-elf was mad. The lust for revenge, and these strange 'powers' had clearly driven her to the edge.

The question remained, what length would she go to get her revenge?

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**AN:** I apologize for the shortness of this chappy, (am I getting shorter, or is it just me?) but I am extremely rushed, and besides, this is a good place to stop anyway. Feel free to guess what comes next, but know that I'm not saying anything. Thanx for all the reviews guys!


	7. Filling in the Gaps

**Disclaimer:**Still out of songs. Ain't mine.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) All right, a bit longer than I planned on it coming, sorry. DON'T WORRY I AM FINISHING IT! It's just taking me longer to churn them out.

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"What--?" Elrond was alarmed at the change that spread over the elf's features. "_Penneth_, calm down, slow down, and talk some sense… I can't understand you when you babble."

Legolas brought his hands to his mouth, stopping the flow of words short. Bringing his hands back to his lap, he let out a deep breath and began again, trying to keep some line of order.

"Let me tell you straight… I am almost positive whoever you sent is long dead. Evil has been growing at the southern reaches of Mirkwood of late, but this new wickedness is right at the heart of the kingdom. I have not gained all of my memories, but I will tell you what I know."

As one, the twins reached out and laid a hand on their friend's shoulders. "It does not matter," Elladan said softly.

"Whatever has happened, we are there for you and we'll fight to set things right." Elrohir finished.

Legolas gave them each a smile, and a hint of his fighting spirit appeared. His soft voice, as he began to speak, had a toughened edge to it, and Estel could tell as he watched the elf, that the prince was strong in body and spirit. This elf would not give in easily, and Estel pitied the creatures that got in his way.

The day I was taken, I remember quite well. It was normal for the most part, and toward early afternoon, I had decided I was going to sneak out for a ride on Kilios without my normal escort.

_I slipped over the garden wall and made for the stables, deflecting any questions and passersby with smiles and claims that I was going to the training fields to see if there was anyone there to practice with._

_One end of the stables was unguarded. A whisper in one of the horse's ears and he began to squeal and buck, dark mane rippling. The stable-elves went rushing to calm him, and out the other side I went, Kilios not making a sound._

_The eastern border was quite silent, no signs of orcs, spiders, goblins or other-wise foul creatures. At least for a while._

_I truly have no idea how they came up on me so fast. One moment Kilios is flicking his tail at me, the next the whole forest is alive with screaming orcs and a shrieking maiden. My bow was strapped across my back, and I quickly dealt with several of the dozen creatures before having to dismount and draw my knives. Kilios took off after one. It was the last I ever saw of him._

_It was short and brutal, the orcs were completely taken by surprise. One moment they were the predators, the next they were the prey. Only three gave me any difficulty, and even that was short-lived._

_Wiping my blades against the grass, I started for my bow, which, to my surprise had disappeared. A sweet voice rang out, informing me that the maiden had snatched the bow to defend herself should something had happened to me._

_That sweet voice turned harsh as she continued, effectively saying that I was a fool to help. As I turned, she shot me in the back. It was not dangerously deep, but dangerously positioned. As I sank to my knees, it shifted deeper, and closer to my lung._

_The last thing I heard was the maiden's chilling laugh. I remembered that laugh…_

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Legolas paused and reached for a glass of water. He sniffed it suspiciously, then handed the glass to Elrohir, who poured a fresh glass. Elrond sighed inwardly.

"The rest is kind of sketchy. I remember bits and pieces, and one large part. Should I continue?"

"Of course!" The twins replied.

"One moment!" Estel cried. He raced from the room, taking an object from a table, but moving too quickly for the startled elves to see what.

Legolas listened to the footsteps recede, and then studied Elrond closely. "Elrond, may I ask why there is a trace of flour along your hairline?"

Elladan and Elrohir burst out laughing and quickly filled the wood-elf up-to-date on their latest prank. Soon the room sang with bell-like laughter. Elrond fought to look stern but failed miserably.

Estel reentered the room carefully holding a plate of chocolate cake. "What?" he asked defensively. "I'm starving, and it looks like this story isn't going to have a happy ending. I need cake."

Legolas grinned. The _edan_always did have a fondness for sweets.

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_The next thing that comes to mind is the face of a large ugly orc. My hands were bound, and I was on my back (very painful). It grinned and held up a fistful of dark hair. It told me that my horse was dead, and 'real tasty', if I were to quote._

_Of course this only stiffened my resolve to get out of those bonds and kill the wretched thing. It laughed and dragged me up by my neck. Below, in a small valley, was an entire encampment of orcs. They were laughing, roaring, and fighting amongst themselves. I knew then that escape would not come easily._

_My captor suddenly stiffened and let me fall back. I thought for an instant that it would be my kinsfolk, but then realized there was no way to tell where I was, how long I had been unconscious, and how far we had traveled._

_Still, I thought there might be a slim chance. That hope was dashed when I heard the harsh voice. I knew it, it was permanently burned into my brain, though I had thought this particular elf dead long ago._

_She stalked into my line of sight, auburn hair gently swinging. Circling, she demanded to know if I was pleased, to see her like this. She was skeletal, the hollows of her cheeks showing clearly. She was in desperate need of some nourishment, although I doubted that she would accept any thing from a creature such as an orc._

_Taunting, wondering out loud if she should kill me, wondering if a long tortured death would be best, or if she should just wrench information out of me and then kill me._

_She asked then, if I was happy with my action, the one that had caused her so much suffering. I replied that she was going mental. Maybe that response was not the best course of options._

_She pointed at me, and suddenly I couldn't move. Not so much of a twitch. It brought back memories, bad ones. I would have flinched, but for the spell. I could not help but wonder if she was going to begin another, the one that had started so badly, out of control…_

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Legolas drifted off, staring into space, obviously remembering some distant memory, one that pained. One above all that he would like to forget. But couldn't.

The room was silent now. No more laughs. Estel was sitting, fork halfway to his mouth. The piece of cake had fallen off quite awhile ago.

The twins were silent. They had never heard of this part of Legolas' past. The three had been friends since they were barely old enough to travel on long journeys. They had never heard of this.

Elrond watched his patient carefully. He was overjoyed that the elf he had come to regard as a son was alive. But it seemed to come at a terrible price. Trouble was brewing in Mirkwood. Unless they could get information soon, it seemed that an entire elven kingdom would come crashing down.

Maybe it had already happened.

His thoughts, which had caused his eyes to wander focused again. Legolas was still staring off into space. For a second, Elrond thought the prince had simply fallen asleep. But his eyes weren't unfocused in the bright way of sleep, they were glassy and dull.

Suddenly fearing for the young one's health, Elrond brought a hand to the elf's forehead and quickly jerked it away. The prince was burning up. His temperature was dangerously high. How had he missed this?

"Elladan! Quick, to the kitchens fetch some ice! Elrohir, cold water and sponges. Estel; stay here."

The twins bolted. They were fully out of the door and separating before they realized the implications. When Elrond snapped like that, _you_had better snap to it. The realization quickened their steps, while they wondered what new illness had befallen their dearest friend.

Inside the room, Estel and Elrond wondered the same thing. Elrond did the best he could, taking off the blankets, opening windows. He had finished even before the twins had reached their respective destinations.

A thought occurred to the elven lord. Breath coming fast, he carefully unbuttoned the prince's light silver sleep tunic and began to cut through the bandages. The wound had begun to close over, although the skin around it was still blackened. A trickle of blood trailed down the elf's side. The being's natural red color was darkened by black. The poison.

Legolas was still in danger.

The wound had not been cleansed. One of the most stubborn elves of the millennium was still fighting the battle.


	8. Estel's Cake

**Cisclaimer:**Hickory dickory dock. Elves around the clock. They're off to fight for my delight, hickory dickory dock. Hickory dickory dock. Hobbits around the clock. Not mine today, but they shall pay, hickory dickory dock.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Well, I've already used the above disclaimer, but I don't have time for anything fancier. Maybe next time.

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"Oh, no. No no no. _Mellon-nin,_you seem determined to make us all die early deaths!" Elrohir paced back and forth along the hall, muttering to himself.

"You will make us all die of—" Elladan turned a corner, also muttering, and came face to face with his duplicate. Each finished their sentence, knowing before they spoke, that they were speaking of the same thing.

"Grief."

"Worry."

The twins offered each other a tight smile, comforted to know that _some_things were still normal, with the strange proceedings going on.

Several hours had passed since their friend's relapse, and the twins had been banished, protesting and complaining, from the room. Elrond had threatened to extend their sentence from the fountain incident, and, as he pointed out, they had not had much sleep since the discovery of their old friend nearly a week before.

They had separated, each claiming to be tired and off to bed. They had not, and had spent the past two hours wandering aimlessly about, highly disappointed at the sudden turn of events.

Elladan smiled now, and offered his younger brother his arm and said cordially, (or so he hoped) "May I escort you to your room, Master Elrohir?"

His twin smiled at him and instead draped an arm about his older brother's shoulders. "Off we go, then!"

Elladan had to laugh. "Remember the last time we did this? Legolas was here then, and we'd all had too much to drink. The next morn we awakened and were informed of the most undignified scene we had made—"

"As we staggered down the hall singing an old elvish drinking song!" Elrohir finished gleefully. "Aye, I do remember that!"

A short silence fell, each thinking of their friend lying in a bed, fighting for his life. Then Elladan remarked, "We need to keep our spirits up. What would Legolas do?"

Elrohir snickered and began to exaggerate his steps, tilting to one side, then to the other. His duplicate laughed and began to do the same. They wandered toward their rooms, laughing and singing, "The Imladrisian red wine, is certainly more than just divine, hey _hey!_And yet it simply does not compare…"

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The Lord of Elrond looked up as the faint strains of song reached his ears. He recognized the voices, and he surely recognized the song. "--to Lothlorien's taste, which curls the hair, hey _hey!_"

The dignified elven lord had to stifle a snicker himself; that song brought back quite a few memories.

He was comforted by the thought that his sons were making an effort to cheer themselves up. Well, at least two of them were. The other, much younger, one was just swiftly depleting the elven realm's supply of chocolate cake.

"Give me that," he said to Estel gently, taking the plate from the human's hands. "You need to give the sweets a break. Go and practice with your sword or a bow. I don't want to catch you moping about anymore today."

Estel scowled, eyeing his chocolate cake, but got up and left the room anyway, thinking it indeed a good idea to leave and practice with his sword. He trotted down the halls, pausing only to stop and retrieve his weapon from his room.

Stepping out into the bright sunshine, he turned to the right and headed toward the training field.

Stepping onto the well-groomed lawn, Estel drew his sword and took a couple of practice swings before settling into a familiar attack routine against one of the teachers.

Elrond glanced at the confiscated cake mournfully for a second, and then busied himself with his patient. Legolas had been restless since his fever had risen, speaking now and then in slurred and muttered sylvan.

Sometimes he seemed almost lucid, but mostly he muttered about the past. Elrond had learned much about this elf's history in the past day and a half. Some, he already knew, and the twins could often elaborate on a single sentence, remembering the event like it happened the day before.

Much to the delight of Estel, who had been present for most of the previous day, the wood-elf had spoken of several escapades and pranks that involved the twins. Elladan and Elrohir had been bidden to elaborate by Elrond, who hadn't heard of the events either.

Imagine his surprise when he learned of the time his sons had nearly gotten kicked out of Mirkwood for dumping rotten milk on the King when Thranduil had a hangover. Their protest was simple: they were aiming for Legolas, and had merely gotten the two mixed up.

Needless to say, Elrond had found the silver lining in all of the dark storm clouds.

But also, much to the twin's bemusement, Legolas spoke of a strange magic, and called out, fearful of 'the fire'. Elladan and Elrohir had been alarmed and confused. Never in all their years of friendship had Legolas spoken of this strange magic and before this, had never shown an aversion to fire.

It puzzled the entire family. When could something have happened? Perhaps very early in life, but there was still the big question: _why hadn't they heard about it?_

After all, Legolas was not one to keep secrets from other people, (unless, of course, asked not to divulge the information) and certainly not from Elladan and Elrohir. Perhaps the elf had not wanted to remember.

At any other time, the elven-lord of Imladris would simply send an inquiry to the king of Mirkwood, or ask Thranduil himself if the king was there. But right now it was too risky to send another messenger, if only to find out where the first one had gone.

Not to mention the clouds were growing ever higher, meaning that a storm would soon come and tear at the normally tranquil realm with biting winds and torrential rains. Everyone would be inside, and there was the fear of the ford overflowing…

Perhaps the scariest part of that prospect would be that the twins would become bored. And when the twins became bored, most elves with a grain of sense would be far away.

Elrond sighed and glanced at the cake again. It sat on its plate, barely touched, rich chocolate, with thick frosting that melted in the mouth…

He reached out and with the fork, cut a small bite-sized piece from the cake. He had to work at not letting out a soft 'Yummm'.

Putting down the fork was a great effort, but his charge was murmuring fitfully again.

Elrond bent near the prince, hoping to hear something new, and hoping that it would show a revival.

Legolas was speaking slowly and hesitantly, mostly calling for Thranduil in a soft, terrified tone.

"It is all right, little one, nothing here is going to hurt you. Do not be frightened."

The injured elf stopped his muttering and calmed.

Elrond sat back and sighed. Legolas was still quite young in terms of the elves, but strong and wise beyond his years. The elf had been forced to mature early in his home, as the shadow was continuing its advance. The elves came of age at fifty, and Legolas had been cheerfully going out on patrol and making important decisions at 42.

Since that time, more than two thousand years ago, Elrond had never heard the elf sound so frightened, and the notion unnerved _him_. In the same way, he would have been nervous if his own sons called to him sounding so.

Indeed, he had not heard that tone of voice for many, many years, since the time when Elrohir had been attacked by orcs and left to die. Elladan, coming upon him a few moments later, had made the difficult decision to leave and fetch Elrond, as there was absolutely no safe way to move his twin.

When Elladan came flying into the house calling desperately for his father, Elrond had instantly been alarmed and had ridden out immediately after.

Elrohir had been talking aloud to himself, trying to keep awake for his father, and Elrond's heart had twisted as he heard the terrified tone of his son's voice. This was the same thing.

Elrond sighed mightily again, thinking privately that no elf, or being for that matter, should ever have to sound so fearful.

His dark thoughts led him to yet another problem. The trees were acting up again, even Estel could see that they were upset. They weren't only nervous because of the coming storm, they could sense that something was desperately wrong with Legolas, and they were singing a mourning song, which, in turn, was depressing everyone.

Glancing at the cake once more, Elrond checked Legolas's wound one last time, relieved that less blackness showed, proving indeed, that the poison was dispersing, albeit very slowly.

Then, as the blackness of the storm approached, and the distant sound of thunder reached the valley, he sat down and ate Estel's cake.

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There wasn't exactly much to do when you're a prisoner, Iladri'on reflected, yawning. How he wished to be back in Imladris, away from the cranky, crazy she-elf.

He wouldn't even mind if the twins dumped more honey on him.

He had been tossed into the dungeons, and left there, for three long days. At least, he _thought_it had been three days. It was hard to tell. Honestly, he had never expected to actually be kept in a Mirkwood cell!

But, he supposed it was better to be down in a cell that up on one of the execution blocks. Although, he wasn't discovering anything just sitting down in a dank dungeon.

Occasionally, he had heard a scream of protest that raised the hair on the back of his neck. The cry was elven, he could tell that much, and it didn't comfort him at all to know that the elves of Mirkwood were still alive, for it sounded as if they would be better off dead.

SSSSSS

Thranduil would have liked to bang his fist against a wall, and would have relished attacking one of the foul creatures that guarded him, but that would be impossible. Seeing as he couldn't move an inch, all he could do was lay against a wall of the cell and think.

Unfortunately, thinking did him absolutely no good, as he was inevitably drawn to the recent events.

And if there was one thing the king of Mirkwood did _not_ want to do, it was dwell on the events of the past eight months.

The foremost, and still heaviest of these weighed heavily on Thranduil's heart. His son's death. Thranduil's soul cried out in pain as he thought of his lost son, and his mind flew back to the day when it happened.

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He had been nervous when he had learned of Legolas's disappearance. But not exactly ready to panic. However, when the prince had been out for nearly twelve hours and dusk was fast approaching, Thranduil's fatherly trouble sense had been activated.

This sense, long since honed to perfection by many centuries of chasing after Legolas and the twins, had persuaded the king to saddle up and ride out with a handful of guards. Their purpose: to see what trouble their prince had gotten into this time.

It had not been long before they came upon the body of Legolas' stallion, Kilios. The horse had been killed by swift cuts to the throat and four well-placed black arrows. Kilios was a victim of an orc attack.

Out came the daggers, and Thranduil had mounted his own steed, intent on finding his son. Deep down, he was sure this boded evil. Legolas had loved that horse, and would not have let anything happen to the animal while he was still able to defend it.

Perhaps he was simply not aware…

But Thranduil knew this to be a lie. The body was cold, indicating the slaying had taken place hours earlier. Legolas was not the best tracker in the realm, but would have been more than able to find his mount, especially in light of the beautiful day that was now drawing to a close.

The elves had tracked horse's prints to a clearing, and here, the king's fears were confirmed.

Orcs were littered about, their black blood staining the grass. Some had arrows embedded in their throats, and the elves instantly recognized them as Legolas's. The rest were killed by knives, as they could discern from the injuries on the bodies. Also, by discovery of the prince's white knives, found embedded in the throat of an orc.

Thranduil felt a momentary rush of pride as he gazed upon his son's handiwork. More than a dozen orcs, and all were handled apparently easily enough.

But his pride was quickly dispelled in a wave of fear as the elves discovered two more items of importance.

A large pool of elvish blood, and an arrow a little ways away. Upon further inspection, the guards discovered that the arrow was Legolas's, and the head was covered in elvish blood. Not a small amount either, as if Legolas had had a cut on his hand as he drew the arrow and fired. The entire head, as well as a good inch along the shaft was coated in elvish blood.

That, coupled with the fact that the pool of blood was dangerously large, was enough for the elves to draw a conclusion, one that Thranduil did not like.

It was quite obvious, that Legolas had not shot himself on accident; after all, he was Mirkwood's best archer, and archers did not shoot themselves on a mistake. Therefore someone must have shot the prince with his own bow.

The irony was thick, but Thranduil did not stop to consider it. Instead, he inspected the edge of the clearing, nervously wondering how on Middle Earth did someone (or some_thing_) manage to get a hold of Legolas's bow, much less find the opportunity to shoot the archer in the back.

For deep in his heart, Thranduil knew that was what must have happened, and the very glimpse of that thought chilled his soul.

"Here!" He called, finding traces of more elvish blood, and the guards quickly mounted and rode on, slowly as to not miss a thing.

Nary more than ten minutes later, they found a gruesome sight. The remains of an elf, scattered amongst the trees. The elves cried out in shock and sorrow as they took in the scene.

Thranduil slid off his mount slowly, as if in a dream. His eyes, already blurred by tears, took in the array.

Slowly, the guards began the task of gathering the remains. Here, a finger, there, several rib bones. They did not find the head.

Riding back to the safety of the palace, the king let his tears flow unchecked. Not since the death of his wife had he felt so, his grief nearly a tangible thing. He had been unable to address the elves of Mirkwood, instead letting his senior adviser announce the death of his son.

He could not bring himself to say it aloud, and to hear the words only deepened his anguish. His subjects had been shocked and deeply sorrowed as well. Legolas had had many friends, and the entire kingdom had admired and loved the young prince, with his cheerful disposition, and amiable temperament.

The entire realm had gone into mourning, and laments floated upon the air to distant towns, who wondered at the sad sounds. The trees were silent, and even the horses were dull and listless. (Whether they were just picking up on the mood, or were missing the daily lumps of sugar from that nice golden-haired elf was anyone's guess.)

Over the course of the months, the realm had gradually gone back to normal, but their spirits were dampened by the action of their king. It was apparent that Thranduil was fading. He had become susceptible to the elements, and was growing weaker by the day.

Many elves suspected that the only reason their king had held on to this earth for so long was because of the shadow becoming ever more apparent in the south, and the stubborn elven king was unwilling to simply give up and leave his people to face the darkness.

Thranduil was well aware of the whispers, but he did not care. His waking thoughts were of his lost family, and his dreams soon became nightmares, so terrible as to keep him awake for many nights, before exhaustion overcame him again. And even then he slept fitfully.


	9. Elvish Drinking Song

**Disclaimer: **JRR Tolkein's character's aren't mine, as much as I'd like to admit it!

**AN**: Since lots of people who reviewed said they liked the couple of lines from the elvish drinking song, I decided to put together a whole poem. I hope that it's okay, as I have to be in a really specific mood to write good poetry, and I'm not sure if I was 'on' the day I wrote this. Let me know how you like it!

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The Imladrisian red wine,  
Is certainly more than just divine,  
Hey _hey!_

And yet it simply does not compare,  
To Lothlorien's taste, which curls the hair,  
Hey _hey!_

Don't forget old Greenwood's taste,  
Who's many parties keep it from waste,  
Hey _hey!_

The songs of old speak of Fangorn's Ent-wash,  
One sip provides the most excellent nosh,  
Hey _hey!_

_Hey, ho! _drink it down!  
Turn the tongue, erase the frown  
(quietly) Listen closely, hear that sound?  
(shout) That be the town turnin' upside-down!

Bring the wine, the beer, the ale!  
The best of the latter, you'll find in the dale  
Hey _hey!_

Rohan's mead is known far and wide,  
Warm's all but the coldest insides,  
Hey _hey!_

The dwarven beer, we must admit,  
Is better than most other grit,  
Hey _hey!_

What else there is, we do not know,  
But ask us to judge and off we'll go,  
Hey _hey!_

_Hey ho! _drink it down!  
Turn the tongue, erase the frown  
(quietly) Listen closely, hear that sound?  
(shout) That be us just stumblin' round!

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**AN:**Lol, how sad that's all I have to do with my time. If anyone has any ideas for tother verse let me know!


	10. Thranduil's Pain

**Disclaimer: **(dancing to the beat of The Bloodhound Gang) Hey everybody! They're not mine, and I wish I didn't have to say it anymore, because it really brings me down. I do own the elvish drinking song though.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April 2010) (Screams in happiness and does the review dance) YAY! I broke 100 reviews! Thank you all sooo much for letting me feel this great! ( starts to dance again)

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The lord of Imladris stood and stared in shock. Not more than fifteen minutes had passed since he had gone down to the kitchens to get a cup of tea to wash down Estel's cake. He had moved quicker than necessary through the halls, wary as ever for traps.

He had made the trip without incident, only to find his charge missing. The sheets were tangled, and on the floor was one of Legolas's knives, the point tipped with blood.

The sound of laughter echoed through the halls, closely followed by a roll of thunder. The storm had broken upon Imladris with a wild fury, driving all the elves inside, where they stayed in the Hall and told stories in front of a fire.

Elrond heard the laughter again, much closer this time, and recognized the voices of the twins and Estel, chattering about ancient pranks.

The trio entered the room, and the laughter instantly stopped.

"Ada, what's—"

"Where's—"

"Hey, when—"

Elrond cut off the voice assault with a raised hand. He did not it possible, but he asked anyway. "Have any of you seen Legolas? Has he been moved?"

The stricken looks on his son's faces told him, in no uncertain terms that the twins and Estel had not moved the elf. Without a word, Estel, Elladan and Elrond darted away to search the adjoining rooms. Elrohir remained, glancing all about the small room, trying to see something that no one else in their panic, had.

The curtains, which were drawn across the door that led to the balcony, were waving slightly in the breeze. Elrohir frowned, the curtains shouldn't have been waving unless the door was open, and the door shouldn't be open at all in light of the storm.

He stepped forward warily, hand straying toward his dagger. The dark-haired elf reached forward and drew the curtain aside slowly. He caught a glimpse of long blonde hair, and nearly broke through the doors in an effort to get outside.

For all his fumbling, he was beside his friend in less than three seconds. Legolas stood at the railing, hands gripping the wood tightly. He stared out to the forest blankly, unheeding of the winds that plucked at his body as if hoping to lift him and carry him off.

Elrohir gently took hold of the elf's arm and wasn't surprised to find it trembling violently. He was suddenly aware, as a lightning flash lit the sky, how frail his friend seemed. So thin as to be dangerous, and desperately pale. His inner light had faded, and his skin was chalky.

He tried to steer Legolas back into the room, but was stopped when the prince's hand locked onto the rail. "Don't."

A single word, to Elrohir, that held a great weight, a resignation.

"Legolas, come back inside, you shouldn't be out here."

The younger twin felt, in alarm, that his friend's shaking had continued, even gotten worse. The prince's teeth chattered and he was so weak as to rely upon Elrohir's firm grip to stay upright, and yet he wanted to stay.

"Look." A great sadness laced Legolas's voice, and Elrohir, who had never heard his friend speak so, was filled with apprehension. But all the same, he came back and stood easily at his friend's shoulder, allowing the exhausted elf to lean heavily on his shoulder.

"Look at what, _mellon-nin?_"

With an effort, Legolas raised his arm and swept it through the air. "All of that. How long has it been since we've watched a thunderstorm?" His voice died away, lost in a roaring rumble of thunder.

Elrohir smiled upon recollection. "Many centuries ago, Legolas. I am surprised that you remember it."

"I remember much more than that. You have never known it, but your support that night helped in more ways than one."

The Noldor glanced at the blonde elf in confusion. "What do you mean?"

After a particularly long pause, in which Elrohir was beginning to become quite alarmed, Legolas sighed and replied, "After the fire."

The twin frowned. There it was again, that pesky reference to the fire. He decided to put the questions all to rest, and waited for a flash and the roll of thunder to pass before he spoke again.

"Legolas, we have never heard of any tales concerning fire from you. The occasional forest fire, yes, but never any so haunting. Would you tell me please?"

The wind, which had died down a little, returned with a blast, nearly knocking the two off their feet. Elrohir's grip on Legolas tightened, and he thought, as he looked at his friend during the next lightning flare, that he could see almost straight through the elf-prince. The notion terrified him, and he again tried to pull Legolas back into the safety and warmth of the room.

He did not get very far. The emancipated elf clung to the rail like his life depended on it.

"No," he said softly, "I will stay here. I need this."

Sighing, knowing there was no arguing with the stubborn elf, Elrohir reached behind him and pulled up a chair, one large enough for the both of them. It took very little persuasion to get Legolas to sit, and the two watched the storm unfold.

Elrohir had forgotten about the mention of fire for the time being, and he had completely forgotten to tell his father and brothers that the patient was safe.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Iladri'on waited, just near the cell door. He was sprawled at an awkward angle, arm twisted beneath him. For all the world, it looked as if he had tried to break the door down and knocked himself cold.

All he had to do was wait for the guards to bring him his daily meal, if you could call it that. A moldy piece of bread and warm water does not make a meal. It was only enough to live on, and Iladri'on knew that he was fed so little to keep him weak.

He had saved pieces of his bread each day he had been fed, and by the time he had worked out a plan, he had saved nearly a whole extra piece.

He had eaten it the night before, and now felt stronger, nowhere near enough to take on several wargs, but enough so that he might escape the cell and learn what was going on.

The tiny window of the cell brightened from its usual darkness, and he quickly shut his eyes, knowing that the guard would open the door immediately once he saw the sprawled elf.

True enough, the door swung open, and the orc's quick footsteps pattered over to the elf. One of its sandaled feet swung and nudged the elf in the ribs. When Iladri'on made no move or sound, it crouched down and poked at the half-Noldor's neck.

"Well, is you alive or not?"

Suddenly the elf twisted and darted to his feet, fist flying at the orc's face. The surprised creature moved to block, but was far too slow. Iladri'on's fist smashed into the creature's nose, effectively breaking it.

The orc crumpled to the ground, and Iladri'on allowed himself a grin. Then his face twisted and he bounced up and down, muttering curses in Sindarin and shaking his throbbing hand.

Nursing his injured knuckles, he gagged the orc and left the cell behind. The tunnels were dark and damp, but it felt so good to stretch his legs, Iladri'on didn't care. He went on, hiding and jumping at every shadow and noise, heading in the general direction from which he had heard the elven screams.

He had gone quite a ways before he thought of peering into the cells for his kindred. The first cell he looked in held nothing living, and neither did the next. The one after that did hold an elf, although the poor being was pale, and too dirt-covered to tell who it was. Iladri'on's attempts to wake the being were fruitless.

Shaking his head in regret, Iladri'on continued. The next cell he peered into held Thranduil.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" The half-Noldor glanced all about, but there was nothing in sight to help him break the lock that held the elf-king captive. "King Thranduil, it's Iladri'on. Sir, are you alright?"

The elf-king looked up wearily, and the younger elf was shocked at the great look of sorrow that masked the king's face. Thranduil's natural elven glow was gone. Iladri'on gasped and reached up to take hold of the bars in the tiny window, as if to tear them free. It was instantly obvious: Thranduil was fading.

Hit by a sudden inspiration, and remembering the events that had led him to come to this wretched place, Iladri'on blurted out, "King Thranduil, your son is—"

He broke off in terror and alarm as the elf-king leaped to his feet, eyes deadened into a blank gaze. Iladri'on would rather have faced Thranduil in all his fury, rather than this shell, this empty creature.

The king crossed the few feet from the wall to the door in less than a second. He pressed his face up against the door and began shouting in the guttural orc language of all things!

Iladri'on winced as the harsh tongue battered at his ears, and tried futilely to stop the king's ranting. Only when he heard the running footsteps on the floor above him did he flee.

Thranduil slumped down onto the floor, thoughts whirling. It had happened again, the strange undeniable force that possessed him without warning, and left him weaker than water, muscles twinging in pain.

It came suddenly, and left when its business was done. It seemed to the king like an evil spirit, although he couldn't understand why it had targeted his kingdom. When the orcs came, they had brought with them a cloaked figure, who had merely to raise a hand, and the elf in question would feel his soul being taken, his discipline over his body vanished, and the free will to do anything disappeared.

It was a terrifying feeling, and worse, when in such a state, the elves had been under orders, orders which they could not disobey. They were held captive in their own minds, able to watch as their bodies performed actions they couldn't stop. Perfectly able to think and perfectly able to fight against the invisible force, but unable to win.

Half the elves had been taken immediately, and ordered to attack their kinsfolk, but not to kill, just to knock unconscious. Elves forced to attack their families, able to see the hurt and confusion in the maiden's and children's eyes as their best friends; their husbands and fathers, attacked them.

They had come into the inner palace last, and by that time, the king and several of his advisors had gotten wind of the happening, and were ready. They had held their own, had done quite well actually, until that blasted figure arrived and stole their ability to control themselves. They had been knocked unconscious and held in the cell for weeks.

Occasionally Thranduil could hear screams of pain from his people, and it twisted the king's heart to listen to the harsh cries and be unable to help. He had sunk even deeper into despair; without the help of the trees and sun, he had utterly lost the will to live. He knew his fate, and could only hope to see his son, smiling his mischievous smile, waiting at the entrance to the Halls of Mandos.

He could not help but wonder if the Halls were susceptible to practical jokes.

But then, the elf had appeared, knocking at the door and calling out for the king to answer. Thranduil knew the elf as one of Imladris's messengers, Iladri'on by name, and could only wonder at the urgent news of the elf's message; for Iladri'on was the fastest messenger of that realm, and was only sent with the most vital of messages.

He had tried to warn the elf to flee, but the pressing force came over him, and he had leaped to his feet, calling for the orcan guards in a language that was normally rough guesswork at best.

Iladri'on had fled, and Thranduil sincerely hoped that the young elf had made it out, and would swiftly make his way back to Imladris, and alert the elves there.

His energy completely gone, Thranduil shut his eyes and went to sleep. He was no fool, he knew that one day soon, he would drift into a sleep from which he would never awaken. Such was the way of fading for the elves.


	11. The Great Escape

**Disclaimer:**Well, all attempts to gain control of Middle earth have failed, and talk of failure ruins my holiday spirit.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Hello again, nice to see you've all returned. Much appreciated. Lol, I hope you enjoy this chappy, and the next one should be up--- wait, what am I doing? If I say when the next chappy will be out, I jinx myself… I hope I stopped in time…

Oh happy day… it's FINALLY SNOWING! (I guess you wouldn't particularly care, but it's big deal for me, my arms hurt from all those snow dances I did.)

SSSSSSSSSSS

Elrond darted back toward Legolas's room empty handed, hoping desperately that one of his sons had managed to find the missing prince. He had raced throughout the entire house, asking if anyone had seen Legolas, only to be met with blank stares and alarm. _The prince is missing? No, I haven't seen him, I'll come help look…_

Well, even with the entire house out looking, they had come up empty handed.

The elf lord met Elladan and Estel outside the room. Elrohir was nowhere in sight. The near frantic expressions on his son's faces spoke volumes: they hadn't found Legolas either.

Exchanging their search stories, they walked into the room, hoping to find both the missing prince and now missing twin. The little room was empty, but this time, being much calmer, they noticed the curtains blowing in the wind from the storm.

Cautiously approaching the door, they saw two slumped forms in a chair. Darting forward, they were rewarded with the full view of Legolas and Elrohir, both sound asleep as the storm raged around them.

A rush of relief that both were safe quickly dispelled their initial irate feeling. Working together, Elrond and his sons managed to pry Elrohir's grip from Legolas's arm, and move the prince back into his room.

The younger twin didn't so much as stir as he too was carried back to his room. Those tasks complete, Elrond checked Legolas one last time, pleased to find the prince seemingly improved. They departed then each determined to get some sleep before throttling Elrohir in the morning for not telling them that he had found the prince.

Said twin woke the next day feeling slightly nervous, but overall feeling well. As he dressed, he kept getting a feeling that somebody was out to get him. And as he went down to breakfast, he found himself glancing tensely behind him.

As soon as he stepped through the door of the dining hall, conversation ceased. Elrohir eyed the congregation of elves, wondering whether or not he should run.

"Well, well," came a soft voice at his elbow. Elrohir jumped as his twin appeared out of nowhere. "Would you like to explain why you terrified us all last night by not telling us where the missing wood-elf was?"

Elrohir knew then that his earlier feeling was right: he should have fled. He did so now, running fast, but knowing his twin's speed would match his own. He darted outdoors into a courtyard and dove desperately behind a statue. The rain was still falling, and the wind nipped at him mercilessly, but he stayed still, preferring the fury of the storm to the wrath of his brother.

Unfortunately, Elladan had seen the desperate dive, and now he came flying over the statue himself, arms outstretched.

They tussled for several seconds before Elladan sat on him and refused to move.

"Okay, okay!" The younger twin gasped. "I'll come peacefully!"

Elladan frog-marched him into the building and past the cheering elves that had followed the chase in interest. All the way back up to Elrond's study, where Elladan knocked and announced proudly, "I've got him Ada."

The door opened immediately. Estel was standing there, smiling openly at his brother's discomfort.

Elrohir was plopped into a chair, and Elladan and Estel stood at either side to keep him from escaping. Elrond looked at his second-born, eyes stating the obvious.

"Honestly Ada, I swear I would have told you bu—"

Elrond raised a hand and Elrohir broke off mid-word. "I would like the full story, word-for-word if possible."

Elrohir collected his thoughts, which were still tied up in plots for escaping. When his ada used that tone of voice, it was best not to argue.

He told the entire story, as close as he could get, from the beginning, until they had fallen asleep. As he talked, the ire from his families eyes disappeared, followed by concern. And as he spoke of Legolas's reference to the fire, Elladan snapped his fingers.

"I remember that night! When was it brother, fifteen hundred years ago?"

"Longer than that. Perhaps twenty years after we first met him, when he was very young."

Estel listened in amazement, mouth slightly open. He knew, of course, that his brothers were thousands of years old, and still, whenever they spoke of such times, he felt growing awe. That feeling was usually shattered, however, when the two began to speak of such things as pranking the Lord and Lady of Lothlorien, or dumping syrup all over Legolas.

Elrond looked at his sons intently. "What happened that night?"

The twins sighed. They suddenly knew that they would not be escaping the company of their father until they had gone over every single detail of that night, several times over.

_The sons of Lord Elrond splashed through the rain, shoving each other and laughing. The storm had come upon them so suddenly they'd had no chance to get back to Imladris on time._

_As they neared the great doors of the building, they saw, much to their delight, a familiar group of horses bearing the sign of Mirkwood._

_Suddenly filled with energy, the two rushed inside, searching for the person they knew to be in there somewhere. And indeed, they had found their young friend, sliding down the banister on his way to dinner._

_They had caught Legolas as he flew off the end of the rail and carried him, struggling and laughing up the stairs. Their combined strength was barely enough to hold onto the little devil as he wriggled, stopping only when they threatened to throw him over the stairs._

_The dinner had been pleasant enough, although, as the storm grew in size, the twins noticed their young companion growing more and more quiet. And by the time they went back upstairs to share stories of the latest mishaps, he had become completely silent._

_Sensing the change in mood, the twins had inquired as to the reason why Legolas was upset. The youngling had shaken his head and moved to the balcony doors, opening them and stepping out into the storm, heedless of the howling wind._

_First Elladan, then Elrohir followed, to find him perched on the rail, already sodden. They came up, one twin on each side, and leaned on the rail. Somehow, they understood the need for silence and comfort, and each put their arm around the prince's shoulders._

_Only once did they turn their attention from the scene before them, and that was only because they heard their young companion mutter something beneath his breath. It was too low for either twin to make out, and they eyed Legolas for several more seconds, waiting to see whether he would repeat himself._

_He did not, and as they watched, a sharp crack of lightning broke the sky's dark colors apart. The prince's eyes, normally a bright and expressive blue, were rendered cold, turned a brilliant molten silver, the color of hard and unforgiving mithril._

_Elladan blinked, and it was gone, Legolas's eyes returning to their beautiful sky blue. He turned his attention back to the storm, as did Elrohir. They could not explain why the sight had so unnerved them, and so they let it slip from their minds._

_They did not remember it the next day, and did not recall the incident until centuries later._

Elrond frowned. "He spoke of something? Can you recall any words whatsoever?"

First Elrohir, then Elladan, shook their heads. Though their memory was excellent, and they could recall that night with perfect clarity, they had not heard Legolas's words originally, and therefore could not recall a thing the prince had said.

Estel glanced back and forth, wishing he had been there. The young human sighed, thinking, for an instant that elven hearing _wasn't_all it was thought to be, then feeling ashamed of thinking such a thing at a time like that.

A hesitant knock on the door made all of them look up in confusion.

"If it's important, come in."

Elladan smiled. Twas Elrond's standard response, although by now, not a single elf in Rivendell heeded the 'important' part.

The knob turned slowly, as if the elf behind it was reluctant to enter. In Elrond's experience, this most likely meant headaches, as it was usually an elf coming to tell him of the latest thing that had gone wrong.

Instead, the elf eased into the room shakily, back turned as he shut the door. Head down, avoiding the suddenly frozen stares of the Peredhil family, he made his way to a chair that wasn't occupied and sat heavily.

The scrape of the chair against the stone floor jerked everyone out of their daze. They surged forward, scolding, laughing and more scolding.

"_What_exactly do you think you are doing, Penneth?

"You rotten being, do you know how much grief you've caused us?"

"You got me sent outside, and then Ada ate my cake!"

Legolas raised an eyebrow tiredly at Estel. "I do not want to know. I really do not want to know."

Elrohir poked Elladan. "Where are my silver coins? I _told_ you he wouldn't stay in bed when he woke up!"

Legolas smiled briefly. "Come now Elladan, don't tell me you actually took him up on that bet? I thought you were smarter than that."

Elrond shot each of the young elves a glare, silencing them more effectively than gagging them. He then turned his attention to Legolas, who was too exhausted to give much more than a semblance of innocence.

"What on Arda were you thinking? Let me see your side before you say another word."

Sighing, Legolas unbuttoned his tunic and presented his wound. He had taken off the bandages before coming to the study, perhaps knowing that Elrond would want to see the cut.

Elrond's fingers skipped lightly over the skin, keen eyes searching for a sign of wrongness. He found nothing. The wound had finally stopped bleeding, in fact had already scabbed and started to heal. All signs of black had receded, leaving the skin a normal pale color.

Legolas had beaten the poison.

The room turned into a madhouse the second Elrond proclaimed the news. The twins cheered and grabbed each other in a hug, bouncing madly about the room. Estel laughed at their antics and leaped up to join them in their dance.

Elrond smiled at Legolas, his eyes meeting the brilliant blue. They danced with life and happiness, no longer the dull and listless shade they had been for so many days.

That sparkle did not diminish one bit as he was lifted and carried away by the twins and Estel.

That night, having slept most of the day, Legolas was busy. His hands quickly packed a small pack he had retrieved from Elladan's room. It contained precious little for food, several wafers of _lembas_ and a couple of canteen's of water.

His knives went into their sheaths, both items having been cleaned by Estel in a fit of boredom. His bow was slung over a shoulder, and his quiver filled with what was left of his arrows.

Stepping quietly through his door, he was met, rather suddenly by two familiar scowls. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm going home. I wish to know what has happened. If your messenger had indeed survived told my ada of the transpiring happenings here, rest assured that he would be here now. I need to go and find out what has happened to my people."

"Well obviously, that's what you were going to do!" Elladan exclaimed.

Legolas's brow furrowed slightly, if they knew then why did they ask?

"You were leaving without telling us," Elrohir supplied. "How are we supposed to go with you if you don't wake us up and tell us it's time to go?"

For the first time, Legolas noticed that, like himself, Elrohir and Elladan were garbed in traveling outfits and carried packs. "What would I do without you two?"

"Get yourself killed." Elladan responded easily. "What were you planning to do, _walk_to Mirkwood?"

Legolas shifted uncomfortably. "I was actually going to borrow your horse."

Elladan was appalled. "You mean take it off to get slaughtered?"

Legolas shoved him, feeling both annoyance at knowing he was to put up with the twin's chatter all the way until Mirkwood, and grateful for his closest friend's support.

They exited the building and continued to the stables, discussing which horse Legolas would 'borrow' now.

Twas such a shame that they had no idea what they were getting themselves into.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Iladri'on flew, or as near as he could get, down the corridors, trying to keep ahead of the horde of orcs at his heels. The walls of the palace flashed by so quickly, he had trouble discerning where he was going, and once got so disoriented, he found himself running back _at_the orcs.

He corrected that in a hurry.

Darting out into the first sunlight he had seen in a week and a half, he was temporarily blinded, and so tripped and rolled down a flight of stairs. He hit the ground at the bottom of the steps and was up again so quickly that it looked rather like a bounce.

Eyes quickly adjusted to the sunlight, were now blinded by blood: a nasty gash over his eye was bleeding profusely. Nevertheless, he managed to arrive at the stables in more or less one piece. His horse was kept in a stall right near the door, and he had no trouble coaxing the beast to him, mounting it, and fleeing.

His head ached, he was still half blind, and exhaustion was fast approaching. He didn't care. He was free.


	12. Revelations

**Disclaimer:**(sighs and twirls finger in a tired circle) Don't speak to me. My latest plan to get the characters from Tolkien's descendants failed miserably, _again_. Maybe I should ask someone _other _than my dog for help formulating the plans.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Holy crows! I was messing around the other day, and I decided to check out my stats, see what the deal is with them, and HOLY COW! Two _thousand_nine hundred and twenty seven hits for this story. It averaged out to be about 225 for each chappy besides the first. I was just blown away. Wow…

One last thing, but I won't make this too long because you will beat me over the head if you don't learn about the fire… this is a bit late for this, but I'd like to dedicate this chappy to **lucidity**for being my reviewer # one hundred. (I thanked her once, but that's not the same as dedication.)

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

The trees flew by at a startling pace, no more than a green-gold blur. Elladan called ahead to his brother, "I _told_you we shouldn't have let him 'borrow' Grendal's horse! No wonder we can't keep up!"

Elrohir choked out a remorseful laugh: indeed, they were having quite a time even keeping the prince in sight along the narrow winding path. At the best of times, they caught a glimpse of his long hair and green tunic before he disappeared back around the next corner.

As they came around a particularly sharp corner onto a relatively straight stretch, Elladan urged his mount forward with a vengeance. Grendal's horse may have been excellent at turns and keeping his speed, but the horse tended to slow a bit if it was straight. The fool animal seemed to like going at breakneck speed through mazes of rock where a single misstep at a high speed would mean a broken leg.

Elrohir, not to be outdone, spurred Hanre up to pull even with his brother. "Think we can catch him?"

"Yes," Elladan shouted back. Already he could see the designs on the hands of the wood-elf's knives. "It should be no trouble, unless—"

Grendal's stallion suddenly bolted forward as if a pack of wolves was behind him. His long dusky brown legs flashed in the sunlight, hooves striking the ground hard and confident. His mane and tail streamed behind him like black banners caught in a gust of wind. His rider pressed his lithe form closer to the stallion's neck, moving as though he was merely an extension of the horse's body.

"Unless he does that." Elladan finished lamely.

The Noldor twins sighed, knowing that they wouldn't catch their friend now. Hopefully, Legolas would stop the horse at the next stream.

Sure enough, they came upon a wide shallow river, and found their fleet-footed quarry resting easily on the other side. Grumbling under their breath, the twins urged their mounts across the river, dismounting on the other side.

Elrohir irritably kicked water at Legolas. "Thank you ever so much for waiting."

"You're welcome," Legolas said absentmindedly. He was stroking the horse's head slowly. "He's quite fast, don't you think?"

It was Elladan's turn to kick the water. "Yes, I think we noticed."

Legolas laughed suddenly. "I am sorry about that. I mean to ask, what is his name?"

Elrohir shrugged. "He does not have one. Grendal was killed several weeks ago, shortly after receiving it as a gift. We've just referred to it as his stallion because we want the next owner to name the beast. The owner should decide."

The two suddenly got a sly look. "You know," Elladan remarked, "he seems to like you."

"I don't think any elf would mind terribly if _you_decide to keep him."

The wood-elf looked up in surprise, his expression swiftly changing to one of delight. "Are you sure?"

"Actually, I think you _have_to take him. He normally goes wild if anyone tries to ride him. He likes _you._"

Legolas grinned. "I do believe you have tried to ride him and failed then?"

Elrohir rubbed his back. "Do not bring that up."

The prince laughed again, eyes shining, as he looked at Grendal's –_his_- stallion. "_Hannon lle._ I believe I shall name him Astrod."

"Dust-champion," Elladan laughed, "highly appropriate."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

That night, the three friends stretched out under the sky, watching the stars. A fire burned merrily in a tiny pit, the flames hungrily reaching toward the sky, each fork like a tongue, licking the night sky.

One of the elves twisted over, rolling to face the fire. The orange light danced across the pale face, reflecting in the dark eyes. First one, then the last, turned to face the blaze, silent and almost regally. If they had not been flat on their stomachs, they would have seemed like the elven kings of old, but being so close to the ground tends to take away one's royal impression.

Two sets of eyes glanced at each other, and then darted away, coming to rest on the last, then back. Legolas finally looked up across the fire, his eyes reaching theirs through the tongues of flame.

Hesitantly, almost nervously, he began to speak:

_Two thousand years ago, when I was but twelve, there lived a maiden in Mirkwood who was called Lúthien. She was quite beautiful, with long auburn hair and flashing green eyes. She often wore a long over-robe of dark green cloth, embroidered with golden threads depicting dragons in flight._

_She was a fierce creature, and many of my people were frightened of her. Strange things were said to happen whilst she was around. Perhaps their fear is one of the reasons she is so convinced that she shall rule Arda: because people are frightened of her, they will do her bidding._

_She was sent to become a maid in my Adar's palace, by her own family, nonetheless! She was already desperately bitter when she arrived, and set about her new chores in a furious temper. Everyone stayed out of her path for the first few days, and her wrath seemed to subside._

_We thought she would settle and become more peaceful. We were wrong._

_I had already gotten on the wrong side of her spirits before her first hour in the palace was up. Even then, I had, as Ada would say, a rotten penchant for getting into trouble. I do not know why…_

_I had been instructed to escort her to her room and see that she was comfortable. I believe Ada thought that she would warm up to me quicker than anyone else. A singly bad thought path._

_We were nearly there, or so I believed, when things went sour. My feet slipped out from under me as we went up a flight of stairs, and I tumbled backwards. She had been directly behind me, and so she was the first thing I fell into. We rolled all the way down the stairs, and ended with me atop her legs, tangled in her long skirts._

_She shrieked in rage and pain, and I scrambled to my feet as well as I could, heedless of the cloth tearing about me. By the time I stood firmly, much of the lower half of her skirt was gone, the cloth draped around me like an ill-fitting robe. I remember apologizing desperately, instantly contrite and wishing that her face would go back to its normal pale color, instead of the furious blush that turned her cheeks bright pink._

_"You little brat!" she cried, and I flinched. She seemed more outraged than the situation would allow, and I could instinctively tell that she wanted to strike me. I skipped back a step, then went tentatively forward and offered my hand, still whispering 'I'm sorry'. She slapped it away, her heavy ring leaving a welt across the back of my hand, and clambered to her feet, most ungracefully._

_She went forward, and found her own room. I did not speak to anyone about the incident, sure that, in my childishly innocent way,that she was merely upset because her Ada had sent her away. If only I knew._

_Almost a week later, the second accident happened. The consequences to this were much more disastrous._

_It was nearing dinner, and I had just come inside from one of the courtyards. I had been speaking with the old banyan for nearly an hour, and I was rather dazed and not at all sure where I was going._

_I had intended on going to my room to change, for I had gotten a rather high amount of sap on me, mostly on the back of my tunic, and Ada would have been furious if I had come to the table looking like that._

_Also, the late-for-supper-look was absolutely nothing like the how-could-you-appear-like-that-glare. That is a glance to be avoided at all costs. Except perhaps, the one I had to pay…_

_I had gone to my room to change, perhaps into a dark blue tunic, I don't remember the exact color. I entered, not noticing or caring that it was rather dark. I remember walking straight to the closet and opening it. I reached into the darkness and felt around for the afore-mentioned tunic. But instead of the cool cloth I was used to, I felt something rather warm. A-and sticky._

_Curious as always, I pulled the door open a little farther and stood back to view the inside. Instead of my clothes, there was something rather large. And instead of the normal avalanche of things pouring outwards, the thing that tumbled out was a body._

_It collapsed forward, nearly hitting me as I stood frozen, too scared to move. It was my Ada's councilor, Renal Degre. His eyes stared, whoever had killed him, hadn't bothered to close them. I was scared; I had never seen a dead body before, or one where the eyes were not either sparkling or gently glazed in sleep. This gaze held nothing but naked fear, and it frightened me even more._

_He was covered in horrific burns, his body more charred than not. Where the skin wasn't a sickening black-red, it was raw, with blisters stretching the skin, making it shine. The stench of charred flesh assaulted my nose with dwarven hammers and pickaxes, intent on leaving a lasting impression. I can still smell that awful reek; it rises, unbidden in dreams._

_He was staring at me. His face held secrets, and terror. Even then, being as young as I was, I knew that he had seen his attacker, seen what was coming. What didn't occur to me at the time, was how exactly his assailant had managed to burn him alive._

_My paralysis broke; I cried out and turned to run. I was out of the room in seconds, and I fully expected to run all the way to Ada and leap into his arms, no matter what he was doing at that instant, even if he was in the most important meeting he'd ever been in. I didn't care. I wanted my Ada._

_I ran down the stairs, tripping in my haste and rolling all the way down. I cracked my arm rather hard against a corner and that was the first injury. It had snapped under the pressure._

_I leaped up again, heedless to the pain, and ran on, dodging surprised elves doing their daily business. My face was streaked with tears and open fear, and I was clutching my arm, holding it so it wasn't crooked. They followed._

_I reached the courtyard, and skidded to a halt, nearly hitting Lúthien in the process. She started, looking at my face, considering. Something flickered in her face, but it wasn't pity, nor was it concern. It was hatred and fear._

_Something clicked in my mind, and though I was still scared out of my mind, I knew._

_"You—" I gasped. I was having trouble speaking, but I managed to get it out, well enough to be heard and understood by all the elves around us. "Twas you! You ki—killed Renald!"_

_Her face contorted in rage, and I flinched, although this time, I had enough sense to back away, well out of reach of her quick hands. But I had not counted on her suddenly shrieking in a voice and language that sounded like ice shards, sharp and cold._

_I felt myself rising from the ground, though no real hands touched me, rising until I was nearly six feet above the heads of everyone present. I struggled madly, but it was no use. Not even the sturdiest dwarf or man could have broken away from those invisible hands._

_Below me, I recognized my Ada darting through the crowd. Someone must have gone to tell him of my rather strange condition. He was shouting angrily, more furious than I had ever heard him, yelling at her to set me free. Guards had approached, drawing their bows and arrows as they came, but she stopped them by claiming that she would kill me where I hung, if they tried to harm her, if they even nocked their arrows._

_Ada pushed through to the front of the crowd, glaring at her. "Let him go." I flinched at the rough rage I heard in his voice, controlled, but there all the same. But at the same time, I felt a little better, because I knew my Ada would get me out of that mess and make it all better._

_I was too young to fully appreciate the situation._

_The invisible hands that held me shifted until I was dangling by one arm, the good one, the other freed. I wriggled all the more, yanking my weight against that iron grip, but I succeeded in only making my wrist and shoulder hurt._

_My fear was beginning to abate somewhat, and now I felt anger swelling up inside me. I called out to her, telling, no commanding her to set me free. I was doing nothing but imitating my Ada in tone, but I could feel the flash of amusement sweep through the crowd. Apparently, as I was told later, I looked rather like a miniature-Ada hanging by a wrist._

_She glared, and I could feel one of those hands clenching around my throat, and it became hard to breathe. Ada started towards her, furious, but she stopped him with two words: "He'll die."_

_Suddenly, I could feel a sudden heat growing rather fast in the general area around me. Judging by the confusion of the crowd, they felt it as well, though not nearly as well as I did. The heat continued to grow, until the air in front of me glowed red-hot. Another word from Lúthien, and a fire burst into life in midair, feeding on nothing, but there all the same._

_I stared in disbelief, feeling my fear come back in a rush. It moved. Like a sentient being it moved, and it got closer. I longed to throw my arm up in front of my face, though I knew to do so was to invite searing pain from the broken bone. But I couldn't._

_It was like being back in my room, dazed and paralyzed, only this time, instead of being held by fear, I was held by force. I couldn't have moved if it had meant life or death. All I could do was watch the flames grow nearer, licking out toward my flammable clothing. I could see images in the fire. A fiery elf was screaming, screaming but making no noise._

_I could see the image turning black, and realized that this was Renald. I watched him die. I watched him struggle to put out the fire, but his arms wouldn't do his bidding. I watched him as his eyes glazed over, the fearful expression ever etched onto his face._

_Another image, this one a black mare. She died as well. Another elf. Another. A cat and a dog, stopping their fierce fighting to struggle as their lives were snuffed out. It went on and on, I do not know how long. And the fire drew nearer._

_By the time the images stopped, I was fully immersed in the fire, but it did not burn, it flowed around me, entwining around my limbs like snakes, but it did not bite. They circled once, twice, then closed like hungry dogs on a piece of meat. The heat came back, closing in on me suddenly and painfully._

_I screamed only once, and then was silent._

_I woke days later, to find Ada sleeping in a chair at the side of my bed. I stayed awake long enough to see him wake and spot an expression of joy flash across his face before I slept again._

_I was told, upon my next awakening, that Lúthien had been knocked unconscious while she reveled in my scream. The flames had stopped immediately after she fell to the ground, and the binding hands had given out a second later._

_She had been executed (or so I was told) the day before I had awakened the first time._

_I had not been expected to survive this long, I had not even been expected to wake. I was brutally burned all over, and my hair and were singed, though not nearly as bad as they should have been. My arm had been set, but I had cracked the other wrist as I landed on the ground after the hands let me go._

_I recovered, though it took much time and effort on the part of the healers. My Ada never left my side, unless I ordered him to go and sleep some. I was enjoying the newfound talent of mine to imitate him, and I suspect he was a little unnerved by it._

_By the time the last of the burns had faded away, the nightmares had gone too. Or so I told them. I had had quite enough of being cooped up in bed, and I did not want to drink any nasty sleep potion. Although I did insist on being given a different room, and I was ever-wary of opening a closet after that._

_But I never really forgot about the fire. And when I went to visit you two, I found myself wishing that it had never happened. I must say, I became rather jealous as the night wore on. I needed to get out, to try and banish the last thoughts I had of the fire and its images._

_So I went to watch the storm. You remember. I felt completely safe. I loved the weather in all it's fury, because I knew that it meant that life goes on, and you must once in a while endure a storm to truly live. Your companionship, your unquestioning support helped a great deal. I managed to forget. And life goes on…_

Legolas trailed off. Without a word, unwilling to spoil the magic of the moment, the twins rose and came to sit by their friend.


	13. Death of a King

**Disclaimer:**Sneaky squirrels squeak scary Sindarin sayings. (Lol, **Alenor**I wanted something different, but didn't have time. Now you have randomness on both my long stories!) They ain't mine.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Well, number 13 turned out very unlucky in the fact that I not only got grounded during the time when I should have been writing the chappy, but also that the chappy got touchy with me and I was forced to beat the resistance out of it with a heavy stick. Sorry it's so late, but enjoy all the same!

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Iladri'on spurred his mare to ever-greater speeds. He had stopped for the night only to give the beast some much needed rest. He himself had not slept, preferring instead to keep a vigilant watch for any pursuing creatures.

It had been a very stressful night.

Several times he had been alerted by a rustled in the bushes, and had leaped up, clutching the hilt of his sword protectively. The third time he had done this, he had cracked his skull on a low-hanging tree limb, and was forced to sit down rather heavily, clutching his poor head.

He became immensely happy for several seconds that no one had been there to see it. Then, as the silence closed in again, the half-Noldor began to think that maybe the laughter would not be so bad. At least he would have had company.

The rest of the night passed relatively uneventfully, and by the time the sun had peeked over the horizon, the elf had been packed and ready to go for nearly an hour. Only concern for his horse made him wait.

He quickly slung his pack over his shoulder and leaped atop the mare, urging her into a swift, distance eating canter that would later grow into a full out gallop.

Iladri'on pulled his cloak tightly around his shoulders and flattened himself along the mare's back, hoping to reach Imladris in the next three days.

The sun had reached the middle of the sky by the time the elf stopped for lunch and to water his mare. Sitting in the middle of the path, Iladri'on unwrapped a packet of _lembas_and started to nibble.

Suddenly a horse appeared out of nowhere, running full speed around the sharp curve of the trail.

Its rider cried out in surprise and alarm and the horse skidded to a halt, rearing uncertainly and snorting in annoyance at the puny creature before it. Its nostrils flared, as if to say, _You are lucky, little elf, that my master is better-sighted than I. Or you would be down in the dirt with my hoofprints up your back!_

Iladri'on scrambled to his feet as two more horses came around the curve, though slower and in more control than their comrade.

Two of the elves dismounted, and a smile grew on Iladri'on 's face as he recognized the newcomers.

"Elladan, Elrohir! Why are you so far from home?"

Elladan clasped the messenger's forearm in greeting. "We come to Mirkwood to learn of the fate of the realm."

Elrohir stepped forward, also smiling. "We thought you dead when you did not return, and Legolas decided to return to his home and see what has happened."

Iladri'on started, he had not realized that the horse that had nearly run him over had been controlled (if that) by the Prince of Mirkwood. He craned his neck around the golden stallion to see the prince, who had also dismounted, just on a different side.

Legolas came forward than, smiling abashedly. "Hello, Iladri'on. I am sorry I nearly ran you over. What on Arda were you doing sitting in the middle of the road?"

Iladri'on smiled back. "Well, I _was_eating, but I dropped my _lembas_and I think your stallion trampled it."

Further inspection revealed that this was true, the waybread having been crushed to crumbs and ground into the dirt by Astrod's flying hooves.

In apology, the trio sat to have lunch, replacing Iladri'on's _lembas_with some of their own. Of course, the conversation immediately turned to what had happened in Mirkwood, and why Iladri'on had been delayed so long.

The half-Noldor told them of events as clearly as he could remember them.

"I don't understand why King Thranduil alerted the orcs to my presence, and in their own tongue no less!" he finished mournfully. "I would have thought he'd have been happy to see a friend!"

Legolas's smile had swiftly disappeared over the last few minutes, and now he looked positively frantic.

"Quick, we must go!" he cried on the completion of the tale. His companions looked at him in some alarm, hadn't he heard anything the past few minutes? Correctly reading the shocked looks, the prince replied, "Do you really think I can just stay here? I must go home, now more than ever! My people need help!"

Elladan leaped to his feet, catching hold of his friend and staying him. "What help will you be if you are captured too? _Mellon-nin,_you must come back with us… we can tell Ada what has been happening and he will know what to do!"

Legolas stared at Elladan coolly, and the twin felt that he understood just how much Legolas could look like his father. "_I_know what to do. My people need help _now,_not several days from now, as it would surely take to return to Imladris and decide what to do. Do not force me to return, for if I do, it will have to be bound and gagged."

Elladan matched his friend's stare for a second, then looked away. He knew the emotions running through his friend's mind, and he definitely knew how stubborn the Royal line of Mirkwood could be.

"Iladri'on, will you continue on to Imladris and alert Ada? We will go ahead and see what can be done."

The half-Noldor nodded shortly and swung up on his mare. "Be careful," he warned, then spurred the horse to the west.

Legolas allowed himself a short smile as he regarded the twins. "Truly, I did make a good choice when I made two friends such as you!"

They rode on a moment later, twice as determined to get to Mirkwood, and even less aware of the shadow that followed them.

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That very same day, they came upon the great gates of the Mirkwood Palace. They were shut, no body to hold them open. The twins were at a loss on how they were going to get inside, until Legolas simply traced a rune on one of the doors. Green fire followed his fingers, clearly illuminating the prince's pale face.

The gate swung open, and the fire was extinguished. The elves darted in, and Legolas gently closed the gate behind them.

"It is spelled to open at the specific touch of a member of the royal family," he explained to the twins. "Simple enough."

"Very clever," Elrohir said, intrigued. "Who—" Legolas clapped a hand over his friend's mouth.

"Hush! Look over there."

Elrohir's glance was directed to a squadron of orcs, sauntering nearby as if they had always been there.

Legolas was shaking with rage and fury; the creatures did not belong in his kindred's sanctuary! If the twins had not been there to hold him back, the prince may have attacked then and there.

"Be calm!" Elrohir hissed. "If they see you, your life will be forfeit! Or you will be imprisoned again!"

"You have no chance against such odds!" Elladan added, even more silently, because the foul creatures were suddenly listening, alert. He feared that they would discern where the noise was coming from, and he had no desire to go through Iladri'on's experience in the dungeons. Or worse, go through a new experience at the end of a blade.

Legolas's eyes still smoldered, but he nodded and relaxed somewhat. The twins loosed their hold on him, though still kept their hands loosely on his arms, not because they didn't trust him, but because they knew he needed the support.

Several seconds passed, and the creatures relaxed and moved on.

In the gathering dark, the elves made their move. Using every available shadow and hiding place, they made their way to the palace entrance. Legolas went first, lithe as a hunting cat, and the twins followed, identical shadows that seemed no more substantial than mist.

Under the cover of Legolas's muted indignant curses at the orcs, which would have been inaudible to any non-elven ears, the twins studied their friend,

"He is far too pale," Elrohir said, frowning. "We should not have let him come so soon."

"Would you have liked to try and stop him?" Elladan countered easily. "Such a thing as getting poisoned by a very rare toxin would not have deterred him. I don't think anything could discourage Mirkwood's prince once he has his mind set on something."

"Did you see his hands as he traced the rune? They shook, brother. I fear for him."

"And I as well," the elder twin admitted heavily. "However, I fear more for ourselves if we come between him and his goal!"

"Aye. We shall keep a close eye on him then."

Legolas had ducked into the shadows of the hall by that time, and the twins had to scurry to keep up… or the elven equivalent of scurrying at any rate.

Silently, for even here, in the beautifully decorated hall there were orcan guards, he motion for them to hurry. The guard did not seem to be particularly aware of his surroundings, and the half empty wine bottle next to him confirmed that there was little chance of being spotted.

All three elves however, had had long experience with the orcs, and knew that taking risks was not such a good plan.

They slipped along the wall, making their way stealthily to the far end of the hall. From there, they would descend to the dungeons. Legolas was of strong mind to see his father again and let the king know that his son was indeed alive and well.

Iladri'on had told them all that he had seen, and the prince had been greatly alarmed when the messenger spoke of the king. The half-Noldor had told them of the king's condition both before and after the strange incident, and his description had chilled Legolas to the bone. All elves know when another of their kind was close to fading, and, according to Iladri'on, the king had been in the final stages of death.

Legolas, always sensitive to feelings of guilt, would be buried under an avalanche of culpability. If he did not fade soon after of his own grief, he would be forced to live forever feeling responsible for his Ada's passing. Therefore, it was of utmost importance to find Thranduil quickly.

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The Mirkwood king slumped against the walls, limbs quickly going numb. It would happen very soon. Though his body was fast becoming unresponsive, his mind could still work, and work it did, fluttering through a vast multitude of memories.

They mainly consisted of Legolas, for the last sixteen hundred years, the prince had been Thranduil's pride and joy, a constant source of irritation and love. They had had so many arguments, much to the amusement of the rest of Mirkwood, who could clearly see the stubborn streak that ran deep in the both of them.

Thranduil remembered his worry when his son made up his stubborn mind that it was past time to join a patrol. He constantly feared that his son would be killed trying to protect his people. A stray orcan blade, a close melee with the spiders, an encounter with the darkness of Dol Gulder, which was relentlessly spreading… too many things could go wrong.

And yet, at the same time, he was fiercely proud that his son had such courage, even knowing the risk.

He remembered giving his son his first bow, and later, his knives. The awe and joy that spread across Legolas's face as he reverently handled the beautiful weapons had melted the king's heart even more. He began to wonder if it was worth it to let his son become a warrior, even if it meant giving up nights of sound sleep.

He remembered the sight of his son's face when he had done something… un-royal. Legolas had a particular face that appeared as if by magic, one crossed with both laughter and a little uneasiness at the thought of the scolding he was sure to get for dumping flour on the war-captain, putting frogs in the chief advisor's bed, or slipping a little sneezing powder in the chicken dish at dinner.

The memories came faster now, and he knew that his time was steadily running out. Legolas, being made captain of his own patrol, proudly showing his Ada some of his new-found skills. Legolas, running down the stairs, sliding down the banister into his Ada's arms on Yule-tide day. Legolas, covered in tree sap as a result of a prank-gone-wrong, the sulky expression fully expressing his discontent as his Ada helplessly roared with laughter, then giving up and laughing too.

Legolas… coming home gravely wounded with a near-frantic companion, spouting gibberish about how the prince had shoved him to the side in order to save his companion's life, and ended up taking the arrow for his efforts. Legolas, tears rimming his deep blue eyes as he spoke of the elf his patrol had lost, clearly feeling the guilt. Legolas, coming into adulthood in an ever-darkening forest, grief gracing his fair features as he thought, not of himself, but all the other elves that would have to suffer.

Legolas… dead….

The mourning of the kingdom, the mourning of the elves ay the loss of one they loved and would have died for.

Thranduil's eyes rimmed with silvery tears. The king sighed as his thoughts came back to the present. His son was dead, gone to the Halls of Mandos far before he had had time to truly live.

If anyone had died, it should have been him. Legolas had too much to live for. He had all the ages before him, and it had been cut short by a single arrow. A weapon that Legolas had crafted himself!

Thranduil looked up at the ceiling through dimming eyes. His mind took him back through time, before Legolas had made his decision to become a warrior.

_The sun was shining, and Thranduil picked up his pace, eager to surprise his son. He ran swiftly around a corner and skidded to a halt in a clearing. He had dispensed with his royal robes for today, and he felt wonderful!_

_The trees whispered, Legolas was on his way. Quickly, he turned and smiled. Legolas stood at the edge of the clearing, blue eyes wide and curious as to why his father had called for him._

"_Hello, ion-nin. Are you well?"_

"_Yes, Ada. What is wrong?"_

"_Nothing, Legolas. I have a present for you."_

_Thranduil smiled at the sudden eagerness as it swept across Legolas's face. He was too well behaved to jump up and down in glee, but Thranduil could clearly sense that that was indeed what Legolas wanted to do._

_He tossed his son an apple. Legolas snapped out a hand and caught it easily, feeling its smooth surface come into contact with his skin. His expression changed to one of confusion._

"_A- an apple?"_

"_Tis not for you!" Thranduil replied, mock-conscending. He turned and exited the clearing. Legolas was about to follow, when the wood-land king suddenly reappeared, leading a chestnut filly behind him. "Tis for her!"_

_Legolas nearly dropped the apple, so great was his astonishment. His confusion quickly turned to that of elation and he stepped forward, almost afraid that she would try to run. Instead, her little ears pricked sharply forward and she came to him, stepping lightly among the grass, her strong legs carrying her forward easily._

_Legolas reached out a hand, and she nosed it gently. He grinned and stroked her neck, inspecting her well-muscled frame in delight. He presented her with the apple, which she took and munched contentedly._

_He grinned and turned to his Ada, who was watching in amusement. "Thank-you-thank-you-thank-you!" He sprang forward and wrapped his father in a great hug._

_Thranduil smiled and began to tell his son about the many different ways to train a horse._

He was reliving one of the happiest days of his life. The king smiled tiredly, unaware of the rattling of the door.


	14. Attempted Resurrection

**Disclaimer:**(Cries mightily, but the result remains the same) I do not own Tolkien's universe, and I would much appreciate it if I didn't have to keep saying it. It brings me down from my cinnamon roll buzz.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Two months? (looks at calendar and dies of shock, therefore disappointing all outraged readers who want to have the pleasure of killing me) I can't believe it's been over two months! I think I need a brain transplant… Ya'll have probably forgotten the chappy before this… I am sooo sorry. _Amin hiraetha_! (which is of course, 'I'm sorry' in Sindarin). Please read and review… and I'll update faster. I swear!

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Legolas made his way swiftly to the dungeons, moving so fast and carelessly that the twins grew nervous. After all, the palace was now home to a number of orcs and Valar knew what else. It would not do for the prince to be beheaded by a waiting creature simply because he didn't look where he was going. They moved to flank him but found themselves being left behind as he continued, now running full out.

He fell heavily to the ground suddenly as he passed an open hall, and Elrohir stifled a cry before it could escape, fearing that he had been shot. But no, he was back on his feet again in an instant, backtracking to he hallway and ducking inside. They could hear his panicked breathing as he stumbled forward, and fear flooded their hearts. What if this was all a trap? What if they were too late? What would become of Legolas then?

Legolas turned left again and stopped. Here was the entrance to the dungeons. He entered without hesitation, and the twins followed, peering into the doors as they passed. Many of the cells held elves, alive, but unconscious, and they did not pause to see their condition. The main concern was for Thranduil.

Elladan reached the far wall and was about to declare that the king was not in the cells, but a flash of golden hair stopped him and help his firm attention. He knew of only two elves with hair that exact shade, and one of them was desperately searching the other block of cells.

"Thranduil!"

Legolas was at his side in an instant, peering through the gloom to spot the figure lying on the floor. "Ada!" he shouted, finally spotting the limp figure lying against the wall. "Ada, wake up!"

He rattled the door violently, but the heavy wood was firmly latched in place, and his efforts were in vain. Fear washed over him, threatening to overwhelm his senses. His ada was in there, dying. Dying. And all because of him. Tears welled in his clear blue eyes, born of frustration and breath caught in a hitch, and he slammed his fist against the door.

"Move."

The voice was so commanding that Legolas complied immediately, perhaps from habit from his years in the Mirkwood patrols, perhaps because the voice sounded so much like Lord Elrond's. He staggered to the side, suddenly realizing just how futile this whole thing was. He was barely aware of Elrohir gently but firmly grasping his shoulders, steadying him. What had he been thinking? What could three elves do against Lúthien and her magic? She had an army of orcs and several trolls at her disposal; what could they do against that? Why had he insisted on coming here? If his ada was dead, what would happen to him?

Elladan stepped forward and drew his sword. Raising it high, he brought it down with a flash of its treated blade, and the lock fell to the floor. Legolas was at the door immediately, wrenching it open with shaking hands. The wood creaked in protest but gave, and then there were four elves in the cell.

The prince dropped to his knees, breath hitching in his chest. "Ada?" he inquired, voice trembling like a frightened child. He took his father's hands in his own and noticed that they were very cold. "Ada, please, wake up. It's me, Legolas. Ada, please?"

Elladan and Elrohir knelt and watched with bated breath. The wood-elf king looked to be dead already, and only the faint rise and fall of his chest revealed that he was alive. He was pale, nearly translucent in the flickering torchlight. What was not pale was streaked in dirt and dried blood, and the robes were in tatters. His inner light had faded to nothing, and this was perhaps what frightened Legolas the most.

He eased down to sit cross-legged, and gently lifted his father to lie in his lap. His slim fingers combed through the king's lank blonde hair, so similar to his own, as he pleaded for Thranduil to awaken.

In the eyes of the twins, Legolas was a child again, lost in the corridors of Rivendell and calling helplessly for his ada. Gone was the fierce determination that characterized the elf-prince as a warrior, gone was steel will that had conquered a deadly poison. No more did his face harden into a look of a strong spirit. Instead, it was all replaced by a look of such pain that Elrohir had to look away. Legolas looked lost, unsure, something that hadn't graced his features in many centuries.

Elladan scooted over to place a hand on Legolas's shoulder. The prince did not respond, other than a slight shudder that racked his frame.

"Legolas…"

Legolas did not look at Elladan; indeed, it was unclear whether or not the blonde elf had even noticed the elder twin's attempt. "Ada… please wake."

Elladan had never heard so much sorrow in three little words.

Thranduil shifted slightly and Legolas bent his head, whispering so silently that Elladan and Elrohir could not hear. They caught sight of two tears rolling down Legolas's face, leaving glistening tracks through the dust that coated his face.

The elven king brought his arm up with great effort to stroke Legolas's cheek. Tired blue eyes forced themselves to flutter open, focusing hazily upon his sons face. "_Ion-nin?"_

"Ada!" Legolas exclaimed, heart moving steadily upwards to lodge in his throat. "Ada, stay with me! Don't die, ada, please?"

"Legolas… it cannot be. You are dead."

"No! No, Ada, it was all a misunderstanding! I am right here, I can't be dead!"

The king's hand fluttered dismissively. "Tis but a dream…"

The twins looked on in silence, watching as agony spread across their friend's fair features. They longed to be able to do something, anything, but what happened here was strictly between the king and his son. They would not interfere.

"No, Ada, do not be deceived! I am no dream!" Legolas's hands tightened on his ada's arm. "What would you have me do? I don't know what you found in that forest, but it _was not me_. I was captured by orcs, not killed. Ada, please believe me. Do not die. Don't leave me like Naneth did, Ada, please!" More tears trickled down his face, but his gaze remained steadily on Thranduil's face.

The gaze that Legolas knew so well flickered uncertainly. Thranduil's grip on Legolas's hands tightened, and one of the shaking hands came up hesitantly to brush Legolas's cheek, hollowed and gaunt from his fight with the poison. "Legolas… Truly? It is you?"

The king did not wait for a response; gathering his remaining strength, he sat up and turned, embracing his 'lost' son.

Legolas returned the hug tenfold, feeling his father's thin frame shudder. "Ada… Valar, I thought we were too late."

Thranduil drew back, but kept both hands on Legolas's shoulder, as if afraid the prince would melt into insubstantial mist, to be nothing but a memory. His gaze fell upon the twins, watching the scene with obvious delight. "Ah. You have brought Lord Elrond's little devils."

"Ada…" Legolas said reproachfully, though happy that his father could jest so soon. "They are not devils! Mischievous little imps from the bowels of the earth perhaps."

Elladan rose swiftly, about to make a remark that would land him in no small amount of trouble, but a shriek from the upper levels silenced him. This was no elven cry of pain. This was orcish in origin, and the creature sounded furious.

"We must go!" Elrohir snapped, dashing to his feet and going to the door to look out warily. "It will do us no good to linger. I do _not_want to become trapped down here."

Legolas sprang up at once, eyes dark. "That would definitely _not_be good. Ada, you must--- ada?"

For Thranduil made no move to get up. He still sat upon the stone of his cell, watching Legolas with an expression of bewildered joy. His brief attempt at levity had only served to push away his mix of emotions for a brief amount of time. Now they flooded back through his mind at an alarming rate. Confusion: how on Arda had Legolas survived? What of the elven remains they had found? Overwhelming happiness: his only son, back from the grave. And disbelief, even now: feeling so bewildered and amazed as he opened his eyes to see Legolas bending over him, worry and grief lining his features. Worry: he had felt the thinness of his son's body and seen how gaunt his face had appeared. Something dreadful had happened, he knew it. And he got the feeling that whatever it had been, he would not be pleased to learn of it.

And finally, exhaustion. He had been so close to death, and even the sudden repairing of his grieving soul had not given him back any energy. It would be a long while before he was fit enough to go chasing through the long halls of his palace after orcs, though he dearly wished to be a part in the cleansing of his home.

"Legolas, _ion-nin,_I am not well enough to go. I will stay here."

Thranduil saw the firm jaw come forward, setting obstinately, even before he had finished his sentence. He managed a _look_, and was vaguely pleased to see that Legolas still assumed the position of a scolded elfing at the mere glimpse of it. "I will not hear of my going with you. I would slow you down, and Valar knows you don't need any distractions. I stay here."

"Legolas!" Elrohir hissed frantically. "They draw near! Hurry!"

The wood-elf prince knelt in front of his father and whispered to him, "Be wary then, ada. The source of all this is Lúthien. I will return shortly."

He gave his ada one last fierce hug and was gone before Thranduil could say anything more. And now a new emotion appeared to plague the tired king: fear. Fear that he would once again have to face the loss of his child.

The shadow nodded happily as it tracked the elves ever deeper into the tunnels. The plan was working out splendidly, and best of all, his quarry had not the slightest idea that he was there.

He had nearly reached his destination, or so he believed, when he heard the shriek of an orc from far above. He quickened his step, determined to find the elves before something else happened. He had been detained by Iladri'on, forced to hide himself and his horse as the messenger sped past with a grim set to his face.

He had regained the distance easily, but had encountered difficulties in getting into the elven complex. It had been a simple matter after that to follow the three elves he sought down through the tunnels.

Whispered shouts reached his sensitive ears, and he swiftly swung into a side passage, unsheathing his dagger and flattening himself against the wall. Soft footsteps came closer and closer to his meager hiding place, and as the first figure raced past, he snapped out a hand and caught the elf by the scruff of the neck. His dagger flashed as it pressed against the elf's throat.

His momentary flash of triumph was stolen as the other two elves came flying around the corner, weapons drawn, having seen their companion be snatched away before their eyes.

The tall blonde elf squinted momentarily as his eyes adapted to the dim light of the tunnel. Then those eyes opened wide, showing disbelief and amazement reflected in the deep blue pools.

The other, a slim dark haired Noldor showed disbelief, but no sign of amazement. Instead, his gray eyes widened in unmatched fury, and Estel began to wonder if his idea of following the elves as they departed from Rivendell had been a good one.

"Estel!" Elladan roared, brandishing his sword. "You little fool! Why on Arda did you follow us?"

"Estel?" Elrohir echoed furiously, twisting away from his younger brother.

The young human flinched, knowing that he would be severely reprimanded later (or else, have the living daylights beat out of him by the twins) but at the moment, he had information that they needed to know.

"Hello everyone," he said, trying his damndest to sound confident. "I would _love_to sit down and have a little talk with all of you," (which was a blatant lie), "but I believe that would lead us to be captured by the orcs. Shall we go?"

"I know where _you_are going," Elladan growled, sheathing his sword and rolling up his sleeves. "You are going—" A rumble from above stopped him in his tracks, saving him once again from saying something he most likely shouldn't.

"Time to go," Legolas observed, and they were off, running as though they were being pursued by a Balrog.

"Legolas!" Estel hissed, though he was risking further wrath of the twins by even speaking. "Did you find your ada?"

Legolas spared a glance at the human as he ducked a low-hanging support. "Yes." he said shortly, and seeing the shock on Estel's face, quickly amended it to, "He is still in the cell. He refused to come along with us."

"Would you two be quiet?" Elrohir snapped. "They won't be able to find us if they can't hear us chattering away like bluebirds!"

They slowed their run to a creep, making their way steadily upward, not allowing a single noise to escape from under their feet. Before long, they were back at their starting point, looking out at the front hall from behind a tapestry. Twas very crowded behind it, and four private opinions quickly rose in saying that they all desperately needed a bath.

A cave troll entered from a doorway on the right, bearing something that looked uncomfortably like a body. Stepping lightly behind it, looking almost unearthly, came Lúthien. Legolas tensed, whether from fear or fury the twins didn't know. Estel of course was clueless, and battled Elrohir in a silent struggle to see better. Elrohir quashed him quickly enough, and Lúthien passed by them unaware.

She wore the robes Legolas had described, green with golden embroidery, and they fitted her figure, but not well. She was too thin and gaunt for the material to hang right, and the result looked was that she looked like a peasant waif dressing up in a queen's robes.

She reached the center of the room and motioned for the troll to lay down the body. She watched impassively as the troll took up its axe and sliced the head from its shoulders.

Behind the tapestry, the four abruptly pressed back against the wall, no longer jockeying for a more secure position behind the cover of the tapestry. Their breath came hard and fast, and they were pressured to keep themselves silent. The cold way Lúthien treated the corpse was sickening. By the time they regained their wits enough to peek back out, Lúthien had drawn a rough circle around her using the blood from the corpse.

She stood calmly in the center and placed two fingers in her mouth, producing a whistle that nearly deafened the quartet behind the tapestry. Orcs began to appear from every direction imaginable. Their stench filled the room much faster than the bodies, and the elves and human quickly revised their private opinions of each other's scent. They smelled like a field of daisies compared to this bunch.

"My loyal followers!" Lúthien cried, stretching her arms to their extent. "We have taken Mirkwood for our own!" Legolas snarled inaudibly, and the twins were quick to place restraining hands on his shoulders. "There remains nothing to stand in our way as we begin to stretch our reach westward. We will march to Rivendell within the hour." Elladan's, Elrohir's, and Estel's rage suddenly grew to match the prince's own. "With us shall come the warriors and kingof Mirkwood. They will be the first to strike. When it is all finished, we will kill the elven king as proof that we will stop at nothing to achieve our goal."

That was simply too much. The orcs cheering was drowned out by a fearsome cry of defiance. Before they could stop him, Legolas tore free of their restraining hands and burst out from behind the tapestry. "You are wrong, sorceress!" he shouted, knives flashing before him. "There is still someone left to oppose you!" And he darted straight into the howling tribe of orcs.


	15. Melee

**Disclaimer:**I don't own the characters or places of the wonderful world of LotR. I sneak them away from Tolkien's basement once in awhile, that's all…

**AN:**(Edited 5 April, 2010) Wellups… ummm…. Lost my train of thought there… oh yes! Uber thanks and chappy dedication goes to **Alenor Peredhel, Arodiel, the elf of Rohan, Laureloth, NikerymArda, Aurehen,**and**invisigoth3.**I love you all! (hands out e-chocolate)

Okay, now, if you are a regular reviewer or one of the above mentioned, you ignore this. I'm going to follow along the same route as I just did for _Strange Meetings_. (raises eyebrows at assembled 'crowd'. For the –ahem- 22 people who list this fic among their favs, and the 35 people who have this fic on their alerts… wow. I thank you all from the bottom of my heart, and I am honored that so many people like this little story of mine. Please review though, and give me a warm, fuzzy feeling inside!

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The twins and Estel felt a brief moment of extreme shock, fear, and annoyance as Legolas dove into the mass of orcs. But they could not let their friend get killed so easily, and so they tore away the tapestry and charged after him. The orcs, suddenly assaulted by three more furious beings were taken aback for a second, and that was more than enough time for the furious twins and Estel to cut a large swath through the stunned creatures.

The orcs quickly pulled themselves together, no doubt assisted by Lúthien's scream of primal fury. And suddenly, each of the friends was fighting their own desperate battle.

Legolas dealt with the orcs swiftly and brutally, at first intent on reaching Lúthien and plunging his knife directly into her evil breast. But soon enough, his common sense came back to him and he began to realize just how foolish he had been. In charging out, bent on revenge for what had been done to his father and people, he had carelessly endangered the very people he sought to help!

If he and his friends did not finish this now, nothing would be left to oppose the sorceress on her march to Rivendell. All elves would be endangered; his father would likely be killed… How _foolish_he had been! He should have waited, he should…

A movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he angled one of his knives back to parry away the predictable thrust of the orcan scimitar. He followed with a dexterous spin, knives whirling into a blinding wall of defense, pausing only enough to defeat the orc and run it through the chest. But there was always another orc to take the fallen one's place and much to Legolas's dismay they seemed to get cleverer.

They held back, forming a ring of sorts around him and sent in one after another. While the elf was busy making short work of the unfortunate victim, one or two more would come in behind the beleaguered elf and make a couple of stabs at the elf's back. Legolas was forced to continuously turn this way and that, always at the ready, and it was beginning to take its toll on the road-weary elf. His movements, though still quick and amazing to behold, began to falter slightly. It was just enough for the orcs to realize that he was tiring, and they pressed in again, thicker than ever.

Elladan saw this from over the shoulders of the orcs he was fighting, and it fueled his ire. He recognized that his friend needed someone to fight along side with for support, and instantly he began to work his way through the orcs toward the wood-elf.

The foul creatures turned at the approach of another elf and started to shriek and scream in the Black Tongue. The sound assaulted the elf's ears but he kept his head and grimly continued his bloody work. His sword soon gleamed black, the light of the torches that lit the battle room bouncing off the sticky orc blood. For a brief second, he considered the amount of time that it would take to clean the blood off, and he blanched inwardly. Then he came up with the idea of forcing Estel to do it as punishment for following them into the hellish pit Mirkwood had become. He decapitated an orc with a smile on his face.

His younger twin, twenty orcs and fifteen feet away, held none of Elladan's sudden happiness. His own sword whirled back and forth, picking off the thrusts of the roughly made scimitars and axes of the orcs. At his back fought Estel, and Elrohir was forced to keep his senses wide to listen for any sounds of trouble. Estel had not been introduced to the heavy melee fighting that they were doing here, and the younger twin held no intention of allowing his little brother to be badly hurt. During brief interludes in his own fighting, he twisted, making sure that Estel was handling everything on his own.

Elrohir hissed in pain as an orcan scimitar forced its way through his defenses, the rough edge of the blade poking through his skin. Behind him, he felt Estel falter slightly and knew that his younger brother had heard him. "Don't you dare!" he cried, knowing that Estel would turn and look to see if he was all right. In a flurry of movement, he knocked the scimitar away from his body and drove his weapon through the chest of the orc. Turning to deal with a goblin, he called back over his shoulder, "Never turn your attention away from your opponents in close combat! The little blighters will take the advantage presented and behead you!"

Estel heard and marked the words well. He was beginning to sorely regret having followed the twins and Legolas out of Imladris. This was madness! The orcs were so eager to sink their weapons into flesh that they started waving the weapons about before they ever got near him. In such a close space however, they more often than not hit their own fellows, making it that much easier for Estel to slip forward and finish the wounded ones off.

But even then it was still difficult for the young man, who was still more used to weapons practice than combat. His reflexes were constantly being tested, and though he performed admirably under the attacks of so many, he could not help but feel unwieldy. He could sense his brother's movements behind him, and occasionally he caught a glimpse of Elrohir as the elf spun to the side to get at an orc who ventured too close. In the back of his mind he marveled at the sheer speed and fluid movements of Elrohir's attacks.

Sheer speed was not coming easily to the wood-elf prince however. His body was tiring for he had pushed himself too much. He had not been fully recovered from the bout with the deadly poison when he had set out from the valley of Imladris, and the frantic pace that he had set on the ride to his homeland had not helped matters at all. He was growing weary indeed, and when one was drained of energy it was not a good to fight dozens of orcs.

He sighed in relief when Elladan finally reached him but did not dare to let up on his attacks. The presence of the Noldor made it possible for Legolas to keep his attention focused mainly in one direction. No more was he forced to twist back and forth simply to parry away the strikes of the orcs, and now he could actually come forward in offense against his assailants. Once more the orcs began to fall before his blades.

The wood-elf continued in a flurry of movement, hands working independently against two different enemies. His left knife turned aside the rough blade of a scimitar and he spun a quick circle, other knife flying around, effectively gutting that opponent. Before the orc even shrieked in pain and collapsed to the floor, Legolas was facing his other opponent in a mad rush and already gaining the upper hand. His attention faltered briefly as he saw three more of the foul creatures rushing at him, but shrugged it off and doggedly kept going.

It was not so easy though, to shrug off a scimitar's stab into his back.

All three of his companions spun around at his pained cry, even Elrohir and Estel. Elladan leaped around his staggering friend and quickly ended the life of the orc who wielded the scimitar. Legolas dropped to his knees, oblivious to the frantic scramble of Elladan who darted here and there, desperately trying to keep the bloodthirsty orcs away from the injured prince.

Red clawed at the edges of Legolas's vision and he fought to keep from toppling over. He could feel the blood trickling down his back, the burning from the deep cut as though it was magnified. He could hear Lúthien's wicked laugh, the sound penetrating deep into his brain. He wavered once more, caught at the verge of unconsciousness. But he would not allow himself to collapse now. His people needed him. His friends needed him. A face flickered in his mind, and he came to his feet in a rush of blind fury. His _father_needed him.

Elladan nearly dropped his sword in surprise as Legolas charged back to his feet. He had thought that his friend was down and out, and to see the wood-elf back up was… unexpected to say the least. Also surprising was the rage splayed across Legolas's face. Elladan pondered the turn of events as he tightened his grip on his sword and took the hand off of a goblin that ventured too near.

He could not afford, in the wild tumult of the melee, to watch his friend constantly, but in the glimpses he stole, a new fear began to knot itself into the pit of his stomach. As Legolas spun this way and that Elladan got a good look at the wound in his friend's back. The scimitar had gone deep, at the least about three inches. Blood soaked the light green tunic, the stain growing ever larger as Legolas twisted about. Elladan's stomach turned and he knew then that when Legolas's fury played itself out, the young prince would go down hard. And perhaps, if he pushed himself too far… he would not get back up.

Elrohir and Estel began to make their way slowly through the tide of orcs towards their friends. Both understood that they needed to be altogether for this: when the fury that fueled Legolas died away, Elladan would be hard-pressed indeed to protect himself _and_the wood-elf.

Legolas noticed none of this. His mind, his thoughts, his entire being was focused on one thing. He _had_to get to Lúthien before she could cause any more damage to the First-born. It became his one sole purpose in life; life that he believed was going to end soon. He was not totally unaware of the blood now pouring down his back, was not totally unaware of the pain that still reached for him like a hungry wolf, anxious to get its teeth back into him. He knew that he would have to slow down or risk dying. But, to his mind, his life was worth being forfeit if Lúthien was stopped, and the twins, Estel, his people and his father were safe. It would all be worth it…

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Lúthien surveyed the scene before her in barely contained delight. She had not expected the foolish Mirkwood elf to try and thwart her plans, but she knew her minions and her own magic would be more than enough to control the troublesome elf and his friends. The enchantress could not help but chuckle as she caught a glimpse of the wound in the wood-elf's back. It would be a pity that she would not get to repay him for all the damage he had dealt her in her life, but she could live with it. As long as she was able to see him get torn apart….

Her smile began to fade as the moments ticked by. The wood-elf was obviously furious, and his rage showed no signs of dissipating. Her orc and goblin slaves were getting torn apart by these pitiful excuses for elves and a human. If this continued, she would be forced to waste her energies on bending the wills of more creatures to obey her. The valley of Imladris would not be taken easily, and she wanted as many foul creatures under her power as possible. And these damned comrades were stealing her advantages!

She sighed and began to search through her considerable repertoire of spells, looking for one that would disable the elves and human but would not kill them. She would love to have such skilled fighters in her army. Except for the dratted wood-elf. He had caused her so much trouble… After all, the little brat had knocked her down the stairs when they very first met! And later, he was the one responsible for her forced exile from Mirkwood. Because of him, she had lost some of her elven gifts and had been forced to spend hundreds of years away from her home, which had helped to further harden her heart.

She would make him pay for it all before the day was out.

Elladan cried out as his head exploded with pain. He dropped to his knees helplessly, sword sliding from his hands as he clutched his head. Elrohir, Estel, and Legolas also suffered the same fate, and soon they were completely surrounded by the orcs, dozens of sharp objects pointing in their direction. Lúthien stepped out of the circle of blood for the first time since she had entered the room and walked forward, daintily avoiding the little bow-legged creatures as if she was afraid of being tainted by them. _Too late,_Elrohir thought wryly through the pain.

Lúthien stopped in front of Legolas, observing the rage still stamped across his face. She strengthened her spell and he winced, but he was so focused that she gave up on trying to override his mind for the moment and focused on each of his companions. The dark-haired twins were also furious, but they were not so outraged that they could escape her mental probing entirely. She paused when she came to the human. So young… but strength radiated from his very core, revealing a strong heart and quick mind. She did not doubt that this human would have grown into something special. That is, if he had not thrown his lot in with the troublesome elves.

He was subdued as well, and the sorceress brought her attention back to the wood-elf, the creature that she abhorred most of all.

She motioned for the orcs and goblins to bring him forward, out of the circle in which his friends were being kept. The Noldor twins and Estel stood at full attention, bodies and minds completely under control. But Lúthien, being the cruel person she was, allowed the trapped elves and human a small window through which they could observe the goings-on. She so loved that part of the spell! They were under her control, yes… but fully aware of what was going on around them. An idea began to form in her head…

She commanded the three to pick up their weapons and attack, not at the orcs and goblins, oh no, but at Legolas. At the same moment, she retreated from the wood-elf's mind completely, hoping to allow him to fully understand his fate. But that is where things began to go wrong for the sorceress.

The Mirkwood prince's rage was still burning strong within him, and his mission continued to beat through his mind. Kill the vile enchantress! He fueled his ire even further, reminding himself that this she-elf was responsible for causing his father so much pain, for causing the entire elven population to believe he was dead. She was responsible for the death of his mare Kilios, for the death of Renal Degre, and most importantly at the moment… she was responsible for holding his best friends captive inside their own minds.

With a primal roar of fury, he snatched his knives and bounded to his feet. Moving so quickly that even Lúthien could not discern what happened next, he disarmed Elladan completely, knocked Elrohir to the ground and shoved Estel out of his way. Lúthien screamed in fear and anger as he skittered straight for her, blades out and stabbing at her heart.


	16. Aftermath

**Disclaimer:**Through a startlingly odd chain of events, I am now in possession of the rights to The Lord of the Rings. HAH! Gotcha! Now, I'm going to cower under my bed and hope that the real owners of the rights don't send the police after me.

**AN:**(Edited 5 April 2010) This is the last real chappy of _Mists of Memory_! Holy cow! There will be an epilogue up sometime next week, and that's it! That's all she wrote! (Literally, heh heh) Soooooo, this will prolly be the last chance I get to apologize to you guys for being so late! Until I begin my next story that is… lol! More on that later. So!

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The enchantress threw her hands against Legolas's body as a last attempt to stop his suicidal rush. He collided heavily with her and both staggered. Legolas tried to pull back, sure that she was preparing a spell in retaliation. Her bony hands clenched the fabric of his tunic, and he stopped, mere inches away.

They stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, but was really only several seconds. The orcs had frozen where they stood, watching the proceedings through slanted yellow eyes. Estel had regained his footing, Elladan had picked up his sword, and Elrohir was climbing back to his feet, unnatural fury burning in his eyes. They began to stalk forward, intent on carrying out Lúthien's desire for the prince's death.

Legolas saw all this from the corner of his eye and he tried to spin, to put Lúthien's body between himself and his friends. She resisted, thrashing about wildly, hand still clutching his tunic. Startled, he stared at her face, which was contorted into an expression of terrible pain. Blood began to trickle from her mouth, staining her bared teeth and dripping onto her fine robes.

"You… little… brat!"

The prince glared at her, too furious to feel pity for the wretch. She slumped, falling away from him as her hands relaxed. Legolas's hand slid from the hilt of his knife to drop down to his side. His weapon, however, did not fall. It had been driven deep into her chest by the force of their collision.

Those words were the first she had ever spoken to him. And now, two thousand years later, they were the last.

As the last breath of air left her lungs, Lúthien locked her dimming green eyes on Legolas's face. The fury she saw there gave her a rush of fear. And then the fear faded into the deep black as her soul fled to the Halls of Mandos to await her judgment.

Legolas watched, coldly triumphant as the enchantress ceased to breathe. His rage began to dissipate, and he became acutely aware of the blood soaking the back of his tunic where he had been stabbed. He bent and pulled his knife from Lúthien's chest. As he straightened, he saw that the red of her blood had been canceled out from the black of the orc blood. The blade that had killed her was stained as black as her heart.

He turned, remembering that he still had to deal with the sons of Elrond, and quite possibly, all the rest of those orcs. But the instant he began to move, he knew that he had pushed himself too far. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and the pain between his shoulder blades sharpened into a heart-stopping wall of agony. His legs buckled, and he went down hard. As he fell into the blank nothing of unconsciousness, he found himself wondering if he would ever open his eyes again.

Elladan cried out as he felt Lúthien's awareness fade from his mind. It felt horrible, as if someone had ripped a part of him away. What had happened? Where had she gone? What should he do? It was a moment of pure confusion, and by the time he had sorted through the whole mess and had worked out what had happened, he was basically himself again, though quite shaken.

It had been the oddest sensation. A small part of him knew exactly what was happening and had tried to rebel, but the enchantress had quickly and effectively crushed and melded his will. And he had been forced to draw a weapon against… Legolas!

Suddenly terrified for his friend, his gaze shot to where he had last seen his friend. He was just in time to see Legolas collapse to the floor.

Letting out a shout of fear, Elladan darted to his friend's side, stepping on several orc bodies in the process. He knelt, heart thumping wildly, and felt for a pulse. For several terrifying seconds, he couldn't locate one, probably due to the shaking of his hands. But then his trembling fingers found it: a quick, faint fluttering of the heart.

Elladan let his breath out in relief and turned to see his brothers similarly shaking off the effects of Lúthien's mind control. They looked confused and baffled before the reality of what had happened penetrated the fog around their brains. And suddenly they all realized something: they were still in the hall with scores of orcs! Three swords rose and two suddenly very-wary elves (and one human) settled into a defensive stance.

The orcs, never bright to begin with, were now having difficulty even remembering how they had gotten there. And when they spotted the twin elves and a human, each holding a very long, sharp looking sword and wearing furious scowls, it was simply too much for their muddled minds. They fled, trampling each other in their haste to flee this place and go back to their tribes.

Elladan, Elrohir, and Estel watched dumbfounded as the stream of orcs parted around them. They didn't even warrant a second glance from most of the creatures. They kept expecting the creatures to turn and rush at them, scimitars and spears raised.

But as the seconds passed, it became apparent that the much-beleaguered friends were on the receiving end of a bit of good luck.

It was about time.

They used this advantage to turn their full attention back to Legolas. The wood-elf had fallen forward onto his stomach, fully revealing the torn fabric and deep wound between his shoulders. Elladan snatched one of Legolas's knives and used it to tear the cloth away from the wound. The orcan scimitar had plunged straight in and out, leaving a clean, if dangerously deep gash.

Estel, used to helping Elrond with injuries, was ready. He had torn strips from his cloak and padded them together to make a thick wad of cloth that could serve as a bandage. He passed it to Elladan who laid it against the gash and applied pressure. Legolas shifted and groaned softly, but did not wake. "Sorry, _mellon-nin_," Elladan whispered, "but it has to be done. Don't you give up on us now."

Elrohir, who had warily been watching the last orcs disappear out the door, turned and dropped to one knee beside his twin. "How bad is it?"

Elladan shook his head, accepted another wad of cloth from Estel, and set it on top of the now-bloody previous one. "I am not sure. If we can get it to stop bleeding, he may be all right. But he was already tired, and that along with the blood loss… I'm no healer, but I do not think the outlook is good."

Elrohir's face hardened. "We cannot let that happen. I am going down to the dungeons to find Thranduil. He should be here. Do you need anything before I go?"

Elladan shook his head. "Ask him if he knows where the Mirkwood healers are being kept. I don't want to have to do this by myself."

The younger twin gently placed his hand over Legolas's and said, "Stay with us, Legolas. You've come all this way, and I just can't see you giving into a little cut from an orc."

Elladan caught his brother's sleeve as Elrohir stood. "A _little_cut?"

Elrohir smiled mischievously. "I was simply speaking his language. You know him. A broken ankle is 'a little strain', internal bleeding is 'a tiny bruise', and an arrow wound is 'a minute puncture wound'. I'll be back soon." And with that, he sprinted away, heading for the dungeons and leaving Elladan with a smile on his face.

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Estel crouched near his brother, watching Elladan's nimble hands as he strove to stop the bleeding. "So Estel," Elladan said suddenly. "You did very well against those orcs. You aren't hurt, are you?"

Estel, who had been mentally prepared for a furious barrage of questions about his foolish decision to follow along, let his guard down in surprise. "Well… no I don't think so. A couple of cuts, but nothing terrible. Elrohir was hurt though, I heard him gasp. He wouldn't let me turn around to look though."

"Of course he wouldn't. Tis a bad idea to take your attention off of your opponents, especially in such close quarters. One of the nasty creatures would behead you before you knew it."

Estel smiled. "That's what he said."

"So you are not hurt?"

"No."

"Good." Elladan took a deep breath and exhaled. Then, so suddenly that Estel fell over from his crouch onto his rear, he shouted, "Are you out of your tree? What on Arda possessed you to follow us? Ada will—"

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Elrohir skidded around a corner and hit some one face first. Both let out a shout of surprise as they fell backwards. Elrohir staggered against the wall, rubbing his forehead and wondering where all the stars were coming from. Who had he run into?

"Of course. It's Lord Elrond's second little devil. Hello, Elrohir."

Oh dear. The twin's vision cleared and he saw Thranduil, similarly leaning against the opposite wall. "Thranduil! Do you know where any of the healers are being kept? We have to hurry!"

The king did not ask questions. Hurrying along the tunnels to the guards watch-room, he plucked a ring of keys from a hook on the wall and tossed them to Elrohir. "Take that left, and it's the third door down on your right."

Elrohir snapped out a hand, caught the keys and was gone. Thranduil turned and began moving again, as fast as his weak state would allow. Something large had transpired, and someone had been injured. Why, oh why, did he feel that Legolas was in the middle of it?

As fast as he hurried, (which wasn't really all that fast) the king barely made it to the hall to see what had happened before Elrohir and two healers blew past him. Thranduil's knees threatened to give out. The large hall had seen battle. Pools of orcan blood and orcan bodies were everywhere. If he had looked down, he would have seen his ragged boots standing in blood.

But what chilled his heart, what brought his memories back to that day, eight months ago, was what lay in the middle of the room. Before the healers had closed in, he had seen Elladan and Estel, kneeling beside their fallen comrade. And once again, he realized, once again, he was in danger of losing his son.

Strength came from the last of his deep reserves as he sprinted across the room and came up beside his son's body. He dropped to his knees along with the rest of them and carefully picked up Legolas's hand. He remained there, quietly talking to his son as the healers worked to stop the bleeding.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, one of the healers, Crunein, sent Elladan for a stretcher so that they could move Legolas to a room. Estel had been sent down to the dungeons quite awhile ago to free the elves still trapped in the cells. There was a great deal of confusion as to why a young human was in Mirkwood at all, never mind in the depths of Thranduil's palace. Estel refused to answer their questions, focusing only on his task so that he could return to Legolas's side when he finished.

By the time the elves began to trickle up to the main hall to stare in wonder at the battlefield, the healers, twins, and king had already departed with Legolas. And the elves' bafflement became even more pronounced when Estel, his task complete, came charging into the room and almost directly out again, following the directions that Elladan had given him for the prince's room.

Shrugging their slim shoulders, the inhabitants of Mirkwood set about cleaning up the palace.

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"Will he be all right?" Thranduil asked anxiously.

"It all depends on him," Crunein said, shaking his head. "If he wakes, then he will make a full recovery. If not, well… The exhaustion may be the thing that tips it over the edge. And he is so thin! But he is strong," he added at seeing Thranduil's disconsolate look. "Do not give up hope just yet."

With instructions that they be summoned if the prince awakened, the healers left the room.

Thranduil turned his sharp eyes on the twins and Estel, who had entered as the healers exited. "Now. I would like to know what happened."

And so they told him, not leaving out a single detail. Thranduil learned of Estel's dream, Legolas's slight amnesia, the discovery of the poison and the desperate searchings of the twins and Estel for some sort of cure. They even told him of Elrond's dunking in the fountain, complete with flour details. The king listened as they told him of Legolas's awakening and frantic rush to get to Mirkwood. His heart swelled with pride as they revealed how Legolas was so determined to get back to his home and help his people. And then they came to how they had hidden behind the tapestry in the hall.

Thranduil listened in amazement as Elladan spoke, telling him about Legolas's insane rush and the fight that followed. The twins ended together, voices hoarse as they told him of the death of Lúthien.

The silence stretched as they waited for Thranduil's reaction. The king had been relatively silent through out the telling, although his expression had grown progressively shocked as time wore on. He reached for Legolas's hand again and said softly, "_Ion-nin,_what am I to do with you?"

Legolas was still deep in unconsciousness. He looked very pale against the deep green of the sheets upon which he lay on his side. His golden hair had been caught up in a single braid and pulled over his shoulder, the brilliant color undimmed by the whole ordeal. He wore only leggings and a light blanket had been pulled up to rest on his hips.

Thranduil scowled as he caught sight of the slowly-forming scar that showed where the orcan scimitar had bitten into his side on top of the cliff near Rivendell. He had to let this sink in. The ordeal Legolas had been through shocked him. Held by orcs, poisoned, stabbed in the back… It was a miracle that he could look at his son and see that he was alive. To watch the steady inhale exhale that proved that Legolas was still holding on.

It had been an exhausting day.

And all that was left to do was wait. Just to wait and see.

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Hours passed. All of the orcan bodies had been gathered and burned, and the elves were once again turning to the question of what had happened. No one had seen the king yet, except for the healers, who absolutely refused to divulge what was happening in the little room. With no one to give them the truth, much speculating was done on the subject, and soon there were several different theories on what was going on behind that door, and who had killed the sorceress.

Behind 'the door' lay four sleeping elves and one very weary human. Estel was so tired that his eyes were crossing and he was seeing double, but he refused to let himself go to sleep. He did not want Legolas to wake up and need something, and have everyone be asleep.

But sleep…. It sounded so good. And the chair he was in was particularly comfortable. And the room was warm… No! He had to…stay… awake… So tired… Yawn…

Legolas shifted, and at first, Estel put it down to the crossing of his eyes. But when it happened again and he saw dazed blue eyes open, he knew that the eye crossing had nothing to do with it. "Hey… Elladan… Elrohir…" Yawn… "Thranduil!" The elves woke with a start and looked questioningly at the young human. Estel smiled blearily at them and said, "Legolas is… awake…" And with that, he dropped off to sleep.

Thranduil leaned forward in his chair and smiled at his son. "Legolas, _ion-nin_, how are you feeling?"

The twins each leapt up from their respective chairs and crowded in, one on each side of Thranduil. And so it was that Legolas's blue eyes focused wearily on them and he smiled, something that they all had feared that they would never see again. "I feel… fine."

That earned a laugh from all of them. Legolas would be just fine. Thranduil squeezed his son's hand and said softly, "My son, I am so proud of you. And I am so happy that you are alive."

"Me too, _ada_. Me too."

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

**AN:**Well, that's that. Only the epilogue left before this story is complete! After like, a year and a half… wow. Sooooo, I don't really have much to say, other than my customary apologies for being so freaking late. As usual….


	17. Epilogue

**Disclaimer:**Okay... for the seventeenth time in this fic, I would like to say that I don't own anybody, any place, or anything from The Lord of the Rings... (looks around at Tolkien's numerous descendents, all of whom look suitably mollified) Soooo, I guess I've learned not to try and claim the rights... Tolkien's descendants WILL attack!

**AN:**(Edited 5 April 2010) (sobs) I can't believe it! Over a year has gone by, and I am finally finishing this fic. That is absolutely amazing... I bet ya'll thought this day would never come! I thought it wouldn't either, as a matter of fact… wouldn't you know it… the last chappy, in the last seven paragraphs or so… I go and get writer's block! Well if that just doesn't take a slice of Estel's chocolate cake…

Well... I suppose I should let ya'll go and read the epilogue... I'll see you at the end... Bring tissues... for me!

SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

Three days had gone by since the Mirkwood elves had been freed from the influence of Luthien. They had spent those days regaining the strength they had lost while they had been trapped in the cells, and ridding their homes from the orcan bodies. All of the black blood was carefully scrubbed away, and as it disappeared, the spirits of the elves began to rise.

But there was one black cloud that refused to go away.

The question was on the lips of every elf in Mirkwood: where was Thranduil?

The last time any of them had seen their king had been before the attack. His disappearance sparked plenty of questions... with no one to answer them. They weren't even sure how they had been freed. Someone had to have killed the enchantress... but who? At first, many were of the opinion that Thranduil had somehow managed to escape from his cell and pull off a daring rescue. But they were quickly reminded that the king had been on the verge of fading... where would he have found the strength? And then the attention fell upon the two healers. It was well known that _someone_was being tended to in one of the infirmary rooms, and all logic pointed to that someone being the elven king.

So, when everyone was invited to the great hall in the palace for a feast and a promised appearance by the king, excitement swept through the Firstborn. If possible, the whispers grew even more in intensity, as they speculated on what the king would reveal... and how Thranduil had survived.

That night, all of the elves in Mirkwood somehow managed to fit into the cleaned and gleaming hall. It was rather cramped, but the over-all effect was just what Thranduil desired. Everyone was all in one place, and they were truly enjoying themselves after their ordeal. The king watched his people from inside a doorway as they chattered and laughed, calling out to friends and making room for more.

At last, when everyone was present, and the room seemed as if it couldn't possibly hold another being, the elves turned their attention to where the king should have been seated. An expectant hush fell over the crowd, and Thranduil had to smile.

He left the relative safety of his doorway and stepped into the hall. Smiles broke out all over the hall as the elves caught sight of their king, alive and well. In fact, many noted in surprise, Thranduil looked better than he had in months. He made his way toward his seat, hampered by the sheer lack of floor space. When he had arrived, he turned and looked at all of the waiting elves, waiting, for an explanation or a speech.

"I am sure you are all wondering what has transpired in the last few days, and I am only too happy to reveal the answers." He paused for a moment, allowing the applause and happy murmurs to die down. And then he began to tell a tale of three mysterious elves and their great friend, all of whom remained nameless for the time being. One of the elves had been violently taken from his home by the enchantress and her following of orcs. The elf had endured captivity for months before escaping and being found by two brothers and their young human brother, although, not a brother by blood.

Thranduil continued in this vein for several minutes, weaving the tale of Legolas's and the sons of Elrond's adventures, and how they came to Mirkwood to help the elves trapped there... all with-out revealing the actual identity of the rescuers. By the time he finished, he had enthralled his audience to the point that they cheered at the part where Lúthien was killed.

The king paused to let the tale sink in, rather enjoying the whispering that spread across the hall. He had not told a story in a long time, not since Legolas was a small elfling who had trouble sleeping, and he was pleased with the results of his latest endeavors.

When at last the speakers were silent, he said, "You will be happy to know that all four of our rescuers survived. And they all, one in particular, would very much like to join us now. If I may..." Thranduil turned to the doorway through which he had entered and swept his arm out in an invitation. Estel appeared first, dark hair pulled back to reveal his already-striking grey-eyed features. "This is Estel Elrondion, foster son to Lord Elrond of Imladris. He is one of the four companions."

Estel received a thunderous applause and quite a few cheers as well. A blush began to work its way onto his cheeks and he bowed deeply to hide his pleased embarrassment.

Next to enter were the twins, comfortably dressed in their traveling garb, although they did not, of course, have their swords with them. They did not join Estel right away, instead pausing just outside the door and smiling impishly at the crowd. "Everyone should know Elladan and Elrohir Elrondion of course." The twins waved as they accepted the cheers, and if one looked close enough, one might see the faint flicker of embarrassment that crossed their features at the tremendous applause being sent in their direction. The noise died down just in time for everyone to hear Thranduil mumbling, "The recreant twin demons," which of course made everyone laugh.

"And finally, the last of the four... It is with great joy and unrivaled relief that I present Legolas Thranduilion."

Legolas appeared in the doorway, moving rather stiffly from the wound between his shoulder blades. The twins were quick to stand beside him, lest he lose his balance and fall. But he was smiling widely at the stunned populace of Mirkwood, blue eyes shining with mirth at the sight of the looks of pure astonishment on the faces of his people.

A low rumble of murmurs quickly grew into a great rush of noise and air as everyone surged to their feet, shouting at the same time. It hadn't crossed anyone's mind for a second that the elf in the story that had been taken from his home might be their very own prince. Only the stiffness with which Legolas moved reminded the elves that he had been injured, and therefore they had to restrain themselves from crowding around and reaching out in greeting.

The blonde prince made his way to his father's side, aided by the twins. Estel hovered close by, unsure of what to do next. He was used to the calm of the Imladris elves, who seemed much more stately and tranquil than the ones he found himself faced with now. He remembered someone telling him about the wood-elves that lived in Mirkwood, that they were more wild and less wise than their kin in Lorien and Rivendell. They were more rambunctious too, he thought as he was jostled forward by the crowd.

The twins certainly seemed to fit in, he thought, dropping heavily into one of the five empty chairs left in the room. He watched Legolas closely as the prince paused by his own chair and stood still, happily surveying the full room.

Suddenly, a clear note sounded and the hall fell silent. All of the elves knew the sound of a horn rarely meant good news. All eyes turned toward the large entrance arch. Estel followed the gazes of the elves and wondered what on Arda was going to happen now. Imagine the surprise of the Mirkwood residents as Elrond appeared, closely followed by fifty elves outfitted in supple armor, swords hanging comfortably at their sides.

The two groups stared at each other, each totally and completely baffled.

Elrond spied his sons and quickly scurried through the maze of tables and chairs to reach their sides. "You are well?" he cried incredulously. "When Iladri'on arrived and told us of the situation, we feared the worst!" He eyed the twins up and down, searching for some sign of injury. Elrohir shifted a bit, but he needn't have worried; his bandaged arm was concealed by the long sleeves of his shirt. Satisfied, the elven lord turned to Estel who had leaped to his feet upon seeing his father enter the room. Visions of unpleasant punishments began to flit through his head.

The young human seemed to shrink in upon himself as his eyes met his father's cool gaze. Every eye was upon them, and even those that did not completely understand the situation knew that Estel was going to get a large lecture. "You are in so much trouble."

"Oh Ada, can I just say how sorry I am and leave it at that?" Estel cried desperately. Something that sounded suspiciously like a snicker escaped Legolas's mouth. "Elladan and Elrohir have both given me lectures, twice each as a matter of fact, and each one was longer than the last! Elladan made me clean his sword and it was absolutely disgusting, my hands are stained black now, you see? And Elrohir had to be restrained from hanging me upside-down in the privy!"

Estel began to trail off as he realized that the elves around him were beginning to turn red from their efforts not to laugh. "Well, everything turned out all right didn't it? The enchantress is dead; we're all alive and for the most part uninjured. Legolas is back where he belongs... and um... well..." Here he rather lost his steam as he eyed his ada warily.

Elrond was staring at his foster son with a completely unreadable expression on his face. Estel bit his bottom lip and lowered his gaze. His hands stole behind his back as stealthily as a hobbit would sneak a cookie. A titter swept through the hall as the elves saw the young human adopting the infamous elfling scolding pose. And it certainly appeared as if he were about to receive a scolding.

The lord of Imladris took two steps forward and swept his son into a giant embrace. "Don't you ever do that to me again!" He mumbled into Estel's dark hair. "When I get over being relieved, we are going to have issues young man."

Thranduil stood and cleared his throat. "It is wonderful to have... guests... from Imladris. If you would like to try and... squeeze in, we are happy to have you. May I suggest that you leave your weapons in the entrance hall? We... don't particularly need sharp objects in such a crowded room."

Legolas fought back a smile; it was rare to see Thranduil so flustered. Fifty unexpected dinner guests armed to the teeth would throw almost anyone off their stride.

There was a great scraping as everyone scrambled to scoot their chair even closer to each other in order to make room for the new arrivals. Elves scurried about, fetching ever more chairs and wedging them into any open space. The Imladris elves cautiously edged into the seats as they opened up, armored torsos standing starkly out amongst the wood-elves' bright tunics.

Legolas managed to edge a little closer to Estel and whispered into the young human's ear, "You were brilliant, Estel." So sincere did the elf sound that Estel actually began to glance at Legolas's face to see if he was serious. "Until you opened your mouth." Estel scowled at Legolas, which elected a mirthful laugh from the elven prince.

The melodic bell-like sound cut through the chatter and every elf paused in their conversations to look at their prince. They had not heard that laughter for months. They hadn't thought that they would ever hear it again. Seeing their prince in the midst of a long laugh (the position that seemed to suit him most), was just the thing needed to strip away any nagging doubts any of them might have had. There was no mistaking that laughter!

Legolas calmed himself and placed a hand on Estel's shoulder. He then turned to look out into the hall, blue eyes brightly surveying his people once again. Sensing that some sort of speech was going to be expected, he cleared his throat and motioned for silence. It came quickly, for everyone was eager to hear the prince speak.

For an instant, the elf prince searched for words to express his feelings, and found none. He had just enough time to begin to panic before his natural instincts rose and filled in the gaps. He stepped forward (as much as he could before nearly running into a chair) and placed his right hand over his heart. Seconds later, the sound of his soft voice began to echo through the hall.

"It has been eight long months since I have last been home. And I have to admit that I am pleased by how little everything has changed. The trees are talking to each other, in high spirits because of the coming of summer. My Ada seems to be as temperamental as ever." This elected numerous chuckles from the elves, intensifying as they saw that Thranduil seemed to find it amusing as well.

"I must say, that if I had foreseen all that would happen, I would have disregarded it all as purely ridiculous. Imagine… everything has turned out this way because Mirkwood's Crown Prince decided that he wanted some time alone. I think that I will not be pulling any more 'escapes' for quite awhile.

"My 'death' as it were, must have come as a sincere shock to all of you, and I regret that you all had to go through an unneeded mourning period. I also would like there to be a short silence for the six elves that perished because of Lúthien's actions."

In accordance, all heads bowed, and remained thus until Legolas felt Estel begin to twitch in slight impatience. He realized that, to the human, time was beginning to pass rather slowly, so he decided just this once to take pity on the young human.

"My friends, I cannot begin to describe how wonderful it is to be home. This is precisely where I belong, and I don't intend to leave again for quite some time!"

Cheers broke out, and Legolas smiled. Talk began to spring up here and there, and goblets of fine wine were handed around.

"You certainly got them riled up, Legolas!" Elladan's voice sounded above the noise.

"I did nothing of the sort!" Legolas called back indignantly. "I know how to rile the elves of Mirkwood, and that is certainly not the way!"

He called to an elf who was playing a lute and the elf grinned, instantly shifting into the song that the prince desired. A rousing tune rose up, much to the delight of the elves, who knew precisely what was going to happen next.

Elladan and Elrohir turned to look at each other in dismay. A hand reached down and tapped each of them on the shoulders. They turned, dreading the sight they knew they would find. Legolas, perched atop a table, offered his hands to the twins in an open invitation. "This is how you get the Mirkwood elves riled up!" he called gleefully and pulled the twins up beside him.

Estel watched in amazement and delight as Legolas and the twins began to dance, the prince's stiffness momentarily forgotten. And then came the lyrics to the song, sung in three lovely tenors, one extremely cheerfully, the other two rather reluctant at first, though they picked it up by the second stanza…

"The Imladrisian red wine

is certainly more than just divine,

Hey _hey_!

"And yet it simply does not compare

To Lothlorien's taste, which curls the hair,

Hey _hey_.."

In the midst of the laughter and general happiness that followed, the blonde prince looked about in great satisfaction.

Legolas Greenleaf was finally home.

**The End**


End file.
